EYES   AND   EAKS. 


BY 


HENRY  WARD   BEECHER, 


..;     BOSTON: 
TIC  It  NOR     AND     FIELDS. 

1862. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

HENRY    WARD    BEECHER, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS: 
WELCH,    BIGELOW,   AND    COMPANY, 
CAMBRIDGE. 


HE  papers  in  this  volume  are  reprinted,  with  a 
few  exceptions,  from  the  New  York  Ledger, 
where  they  appeared,  under  the  title  of  "  Thoughts 
as  they  Occur,  by  one  who  keeps  his  Eyes  and  Ears  open." 
Besides  these,  a  few  have  been  taken  from  the  New  York 
Independent. 

Nothing  could  be  less  studied  or  pretentious  than  these 
papers,  thrown  off  almost  as  rapidly  as  a  photograph  is 
printed,  and  representing  the  impressions  of  happy  hours, 
or  the  moods  and  musings  of  the  moment.  They  are  frag 
mentary,  and  as  careless  as  even  a  newspaper  style  will 
permit. 

If  they  serve  to  inspire  a  love  of  Nature,  or  an  enjoy 
ment  of  rural  occupations,  or  to  form  a  kindly  habit  of 
judging  men  and  events,  or  if  they  even  serve  only  to 
enliven  the  tedium  of  sickness,  or  while  away  a  summer 
hour  with  innocent  amusement,  they  will  answer  the  au 
thor's  utmost  expectations. 

II.   W.   B. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

MODERN  CONVENIENCES  AND  FIRST-CLASS  HOUSES         ...  1 

THE  DOG  NOBLE,  AND  THE  EMPTY  HOLE 10 

LITCHFIELD  REVISITED 14 

PHRENOLOGY 20 

LETTERS  FROM  THE  COUNTRY 26 

HOURS  OF  EXALTATION 32 

FIRST  SUMMER  LETTER 38 

SECOND  SUMMER  LETTER 41 

SNOW  POWER 45 

THE  MOUNTAIN  FARM  TO  THE  SEA-SIDE  FARM  ....  49 

HAYING 58 

MOWING-MACHINES  AND  STEAM-PLOUGHS      .        .        .        .        .  65 

CITY  BOYS  IN  THE  COUNTRY 71 

A  TIME  AT  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS 79 

OUR  FIRST  EXPERIENCE  WITH  A  SEWING-MACHINE        ...  85 

HUNTING  FLIES 89 

BACK  AGAIN 91 

A  WESTERN  TRIP 96 

THE  LECTURE  SYSTEM 102 

HOME  REVISITED 109 

HOW  TO  WAKE  IN  THE  MORNING 114 

LETTER  FROM  THE  COUNTRY 118 

WEEDS  IN  PICTURES 122 

THE  RIGHT  KIND  OF  FARMING 125 

ARE  BIRDS  WORTH  THEIR  KEEPING? 130 

COUNTRY  STILLNESS  AND  WOODCHUCKS 137 

A  CANNON-BALL  IN  THE  HAT 141 

MY  POCKETS 145 

JOYS  AND  SORROWS  OF  EGGS 149 

THE  DUTY  OF  OWNING  BOOKS 154 

MY  PROPERTY ,  156 


VI  CONTENTS. 

MEN  NEED  WHAT  THEY  DO  NOT  WANT 161 

CONSULTING  AN  ECHO 164 

VIRTUE  AND  FANATICISM  OF  NEATNESS        ....  167 

NIAGARA  FALLS,  BUT  NOT  DESCRIBED 173 

NEAT  DRESSING  is  NOT  CLEAN  HOUSEKEEPING    ....  181 

OUR  FIRST  FISHING 185 

BEADING 187 

SUMMER  READING        •••.......    190 

~-WORTH  OF  MONEY 192 

PET  NOTIONS         .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .     195 

REASONS  FOR  NOT  WRITING  AN  ARTICLE 199 

HEALTH  AND  EDUCATION     .........    203 

ON  THE  PLEASURES  OF  BEING  A  PUBLIC  MAN     ....  207 

CHIMNEY-SWALLOWS    .        .        .  * 211 

THE  FARM         ••«........  215 

THE  HIGHWAY  OF  THE  PEOPLE 218 

ASKING  ADVICE,  AND  OXEN 221 

THE  OFFICE  OF  ART 225 

FREE  TOWN  LIBRARIES 230 

HONOR  YOUR  BUSINESS 233 

MOTHS,  WINGED  AND  LEGGED 236 

BOSTON  REMINISCENCES 239 

OBJECT  LESSONS 243 

CHARACTER  AND  REPUTATION     . 246 

GOOD-NATURE 249 

APPLE-PIE 251 

STRAIGHTENING  THE  LINES 255 

^TALKING 258 

ART  AMONG  THE  PEOPLE 262 

k       SLIDING  DOWN  HILL 266 

GAMBLING 270 

WINTER  BEAUTY 273 

STREET  CRIES  AND  ORATORS'  VOICES  • 278 

BE  GENEROUS  OF  BEAUTY 281 

TRAILING  ARBUTUS 285 

MORALS  OF  BARGAINS  ........  288 

OUTLANDISH  BOOKS .  290 

THE  DANDELION  AND  I 294 

ORAL  FARMING 299  ' 

DRY  FISHING 302 

APPLE-TREES  IN  LOVE     .        .        .        .        .        .  go* 

GENIUS  AND  INDUSTRY 310 

NEW  CLOTHES  . 

ol3 

WORMS 31^ 

PLEASURE-RIDING 32^ 

SUMMER  RAIN 324 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

MY  Two  FRIENDS 

EMBODIED  JOKES .  •    * 

CHANGES 

DRIVING  FAST  HORSES  FAST 337 


FENCE-CORNERS 


LIFE  OF  FLOWLRS 

CHILDHOOD  AND  DISENCHANTMENT 

MY  PICTURE-GALLERY 


340 


AGRICULTURAL  PAPER ^ 

THE  PUMPKIN  FAMILY.  — ITS  RELATIVES  AND  RIVALS       . 

AUTUMN  COLORS 

OUR  HOUSEKEEPING  EXPERIENCE 

SOLITUDE:  WASPS 


355 


363 

368 


FOOD  DISCOVERIES 

GOOD-NATURED  PEOPLE 3^2 

STRAWBERRIES  AND  CREAM 3^5 

378 

383 

386 

•FAIRY  Music 

MOSQUITOS.    No.  2 ' 

BOOK-KEEPING 396 

SPEAKING-HALLS 40° 

CONVERSATIONAL  FAULTS     ' 403 

BOOTS 40G 

COMPLIMENTS 408 

SMELL  AND  PERFUMERY 41° 

THE  GOOD  OF  DISORDER 413 


EYES    AND    EARS. 


MODERN   CONVENIENCES   AND  FIRST-CLASS 
HOUSES. 

HERE  are  many  persons  who  suppose  that 
people  who  live  in  first-class  houses,  with  all 
the  modern  improvements,  must  of  course 
be  much  puffed  up,  and  that  they  become 
quite  grand  in  their  own  eyes.  It  is  true,  sometimes, 
that  fine  houses  have  proud  people  in  them.  We 
can  imagine  a  pride  so  reluctant  of  discipline,  and 
so  indocile,  as  to  survive  in. spite  of  the  experience 
of  a  first-class  house.  But  we  suspect  the  same  of 
very  poor  tenements. 

When  we  moved  into  a  capacious  brown-stone 
dwelling,  our  better  nature,  with  great  simplicity, 
whispered,  "  Beware  of  temptation."  And,  with  an 
ignorance  quite  as  simple,  we  supposed  that  the 
thieves  of  grace  would  be  found  lurking  in  large 
rooms,  at  ambush  behind  cornices  reproduced  from 
old  Rome,  or  in  stately  appearances  !  How  little  did 
we  suspect  that  these  were  harmless,  and  that  very 
different  elements  were  to  moth  our  patience  ! 

But  let  a  little  preliminary  exultation   of  a  new 
man  in  a  new  place  be  forgiven,  ye  who  are  now 
i  A 


2  EYES  AND  EARS. 

established !  Remember  your  own  household  fervor 
on  first  setting  up,  while  we  recount  our  economic  joy, 
and  anticipations  of  modern  conveniences  that  would 
take  away  all  human  care,  and  speed  life  upon  a  down 
hill  path,  where  it  was  to  be  easier  to  move  than  to 
stand  still !  Everything  was  admirable !  The  attic 
had  within  it  a  tank  so  large  as  better  to  be  called  a 
reservoir.  Down  from  it  ran  the  serviceable  pipes  to 
every  part  of  the  dwelling.  Each  chamber  had  its 
invisible  water-maid  in  the  wall,  ready  to  spring  the 
floods  upon  you  by  the  mere  turn  of  your  hand  ;  then 
the  bath-room,  with  tub,  douche,  shower,  and  indeed 
various  and  universal  squirt,  —  up,  down,  and  promis 
cuous.  The  kitchen,  too,  —  the  tubs  with  water  wait 
ing  to  leap  into  them,  the  long  cylinder  by  the  side  of 
the  fire,  as  if  the  range  had  its  baby  wrapped  up,  and 
set  perpendicular  in  the  corner  to  nurse.  But  great 
est  of  all  admirations  was  the  furnace !  This,  too, 
was  interframed  with  the  attic  tank ;  for  it  was  a 
hot-water  furnace.  For  a  time  this  was  our  peculiar 
pride.  The  water  flowed  down  into  a  system  of  coiled 
tubes,  which  were  connected  with  the  boiler  surround 
ing  the  furnace  fire.  The  idea  was,  when  the  water 
got  as  hot  as  it  could  well  bear,  that  it  should  frisk 
out  of  one  end  of  the  boiler  into  the  pipes,  and  round 
through  the  whole  system,  and  come  back  into  the 
other  end  cooled  off.  Thus  a  complete  arterial  system 
was  established, — the  boiler  being  the  heart,  the  water 
the  blood,  the  pipes  at  the  hot  end  the  arteries,  and 
the  return  pipes  at  the  cool  end  the  veins ;  —  the 
whole  enclosed  in  a  brick  chamber,  from  which  the 
air  warmed  by  this  liquid  heat  was  given  off  to  the 
dwelling.  It  was  a  day  of  great  glory  when  we 


MODERN   CONVENIENCES   AND   FIRST-CLASS  HOUSES.      3 

thought-  the  chill  in  the  air  required  a  fire  in  the 
furnace.  The  fact  was  that  we  wanted  to  play  with 
our  pet,  and  were  half  vexed  with  the  old  conserva 
tive  thermometer,  that  would  not  come  down,  and 
admit  that  it  was  cold  enough  for  a  fire.  However, 
we  do  not  recollect  ever  afterwards  to  have  been  so 
eager. 

In  the  first  place,  we  never  could  raise  enough  heat 
to  change  the  air  in  the  house  more  than  from  cold 
to  chill.  We  piled  in  the  coal,  and  watched  the  ther 
mometer  ;  ran  down  for  coal  again,  and  ran  back  to 
watch  the  thermometer.  We  brought  home  coal, 
exchanged  glances  over  the  bill  with  the  consulting 
partner,  and  made  silent  estimates  of  the  expenses 
t)f  the  whole  winter,  if  this  were  but  the  beginning. 
But  there  was  the  old  red  dragon  in  the  cellar  devour 
ing  coal  remorselessly,  with  his  long  iron  tail  folded 
and  coiled  in  the  furnace  chamber  without  heat. 
Thus,  for  a  series  of  weeks,  we  fired  off  the  furnace 
in  the  cellar  at  the  thermometer  in  the  parlor,  and 
never  hit.  But  we  did  accomplish  other  things. 
Once  the  fire  was  driven  so  hard  that  steam  began 
to  form  and  rumble  and  blow  off,  very  innocently  ; 
but  the  girls  did  not  know  that,  and  took  to  their 
heels  for  fear  of  being  blown  up.  When  the  cause 
was  discovered,  the  remedy  was  not  easy,  for  the 
furnace  bottom  was  immovable,  and  the  fire  could 
not  be  let  down.  But  our  Joan  of  Arc  assailed  the 
enemy  i»  his  own  camp,  and  threw  a  bucket  of  water 
into  the  fire.  This  produced  several  effects ;  it  put 
out  the  fire,  it  also  put  out  so  much  gas,  steam,  and 
ashes  that  the  maiden  was  quite  put  out  also.  And 
more  than  all,  it  cracked  the  boiler.  But  this  we  did 


4  EYES   AND   EARS. 

not  know  till  some  time  afterwards.  There  were  a 
few  days  of  comparative  rest.  The  weather  was  mild 
out  of  doors,  and  cold  within.  It  was  soon  reported 
that  one  of  the  pipes  was  stopped  up  in  the  chamber, 
for  the  water  would  not  flow.  The  plumber  was  sent 
for.  He  was  already  well  acquainted  with  the  way 
to  the  house.  He  brought  upon  himself  a  laugh  of 
ridicule  by  suggesting  that  the  water  had  given  out 
in  the  tank  !  Water  given  out  ?  We  turned  in 
wardly  pale  behind  the  outward  red  of  laughing. 
We  thought  we  had  a  pocket-ocean  up  stairs.  Up 
we  marched,  climbed  up  the  sides,  peered  down  to 
the  dirty  bottom  of  an  emptied  tank !  Alas !  the 
whole  house  was  symmetrically  connected.  Every 
thing  depended  upon  this  tank ;  the  furnace  in  the 
cellar,  the  range  in  the  kitchen,  the  laundry  depart 
ment,  all  the  washing  apparatus  of  the  chambers, 
the  convenient  china-closet  sink,  where  things  were 
to  be  washed  without  going  down  stairs,  the  entry 
closets,  and  almost  everything  else,  except  the  door 
bell,  were  made  to  go  by  water,  and  now  the  universal 
motive  power  was  gone !  A  new  system  of  con 
veniences  was  now  developed.  We  stationed  an  Irish 
engine  at  the  force-pump  to  throw  up  water  into  the 
tank  from  the  street  cistern.  Blessings  be  on  that 
cistern  in  the  street !  No  man  knew  how  deep  that 
was.  Like  the  pond  in  every  village,  nobody  had 
ever  found  bottom.  And  so  we  limped  along  for  a 
few  days.  Meanwhile,  the  furnace  having  Been  ex 
amined,  the  secret  of  all  this  trouble  was  detected. 
The  life-blood  of  the  house  had  been  oozing  and  flow 
ing  away  through  this  furnace !  How  much  would 
it  cost  to  repair  it?  More  money  than  a  hot-air 


MODERN   CONVENIENCES   AND   FIRST-CLASS   HOUSES.      5 

furnace  would  cost,  and  half  more  than  that !  So  we 
determined  to  clear  out  the  pet.  Alas,  (again,)  how 
we  fondled  the  favorite  at  first,  and  how  contemptu 
ously  we  kicked  it  at  last !  It  is  said  that  no  one  is 
a  whole  man  ;  we  have  partial  gifts.  In  our  own 
case,  the  gift  of  buying  was  liberally  bestowed,  but 
the  talent  for  selling  was  either  withheld  or  lay  an 
undeveloped  embryo.  How  to  sell  the  old  furnace 
and  to  get  a  new  one !  There  is  a  great  psychological 
experience  there.  We  aroused  ourselves,  gave  several 
days  to  contemplation,  laid  aside  all  other  cares,  ran 
from  furnace  to  furnace,  saw  six  or  eight  patterns, 
each  one  of  which  was  better  than  all  the  others,  and 
all  of  them  were  able  to  evolve  vast  quantities  of  heat, 
with  an  imaginary  amount  of  fuel.  But  fortune,  that 
had  so  long  persecuted  us,  did  not  presume  to  destroy 
us  yet,  and,  as  a  cat  with  a  rat,  let  us  out  of  its  paws 
for  a  moment's  ease.  In  other  words,  we  arranged 
with  Messrs.  Richardson  &  Boynton  to  put  their  fur 
nace  in  the  place  of  the  hot-air  gentleman  in  black. 
And  to  this  hour  we  have  been  glad  of  it.  A  winter 
and  a  half  on  Brooklyn  Heights  will  put  any  furnace 
to  proof.  And  we  are  prepared  to  defy  the  north 
wind,  the  west,  or  the  boisterous  southwest.  They 
may  heap  winter  as  high  as  they  please  without,  we 
have  summer  within. 

But  0  the  changing!  It  was  mid-winter.  The 
mild  weather  took  this  chance  to  go  South,  and  got 
in  its  place  the  niggardliest  fellow  that  ever  stood  sen 
tinel  in  Kamtschatka.  The  cellar  was  divided  from 
the  kitchen  in  part  by  this  furnace.  For  two  or  three 
weeks  they  were  chiselling  the  tubes  apart,  and  getting 
the  rubbish  out  of  the  way ;  —  masons,  tenders,  iron- 


6  EYES   AND   EARS. 

men,  old  iron  and  new  iron,  tin  pipes,  carpenters,  and 
new  air-boxes,  girls  and  dinner,  the  Irishman  wheez 
ing  at  the  pump,  —  all  mixed  in  such  confusion, 
that  language  under  the  tower  of  Babel  was  a  eupho 
nious  literature  in  comparison.  Sometimes,  as  we 
walked  out,  our  good  and  loving  deacons,  in  a  delicate 
way,  would  warn  us  of  the  danger  of  being  puffed  up 
with  the  pride  of  a  stylish  house  ! 

At  length,  after  nearly  six  weeks  of  the  coldest 
weather  of  the  season,  the  new  furnace  took  charge 
of  the  house.  Water  returned  to  the  attic.  The 
girls  no  longer  dreaded  being  blown  up  by  the  boiler 
at  the  range.  But  the  report  came  up  that  the  sinks 
were  stopped.  After  investigation,  the  kitchen  floor 
must  be  ripped  up,  the  great  waste-pipe  reached  by 
digging,  and  laid  open.  Broken  tumblers,  plates,  and 
cups  stopped  up  the  pipes.  Another  week  for  this. 
Just  as  we  were  sitting  down  to  a  dangerous  peace, 
we  walked  to  the  window  one  morning,  to  see  that  our 
yard  had  disappeared !  The  roof  of  the  store  on 
which  it  was  laid  had  given  way,  and  carried  down 
all  the  earth,  crashing  through  the  four  stories  to  the 
ground  !  Just  one  thing  more  was  needed,  —  that  the 
house  itself  should  slide  off  bodily,  and  dump  itself 
into  the  East  River!  Yet  the  misfortune  was  not 
without  comfort.  The  store  was  used  for  grinding 
drugs.  Ten  thousand  pounds  of  salts,  ipecac,  rhu 
barb,  strychnine,  and  such  like  delicacies,  were  hid 
den  beneath  a  hundred  tons  of  earth,  —  the  medicine 
being,  where  many  people  for  whom  it  was  destined 
would  have  been,  buried  under  ground.  For  several 
weeks  afterwards,  I  think  the  bills  of  mortality  im 
proved  in  the  region  around. 


MODERN   CONVENIENCES  AND   FIRST-CLASS  HOUSES.      7 

There  were  a  great  number  of  other  things  exceed 
ingly  convenient  in  our  house.  The  water-pipe  from 
the  roof  to  the  front  cistern  was  carried  down  within 

* 

the  wall  to  the  ground.  The  bitter  cold  froze  it  up. 
Nobody  could  get  at  it.  We  salted  it,  we  poked  hot 
irons  into  the  tap,  we  took  counsel,  and  finally  let  it 
alone.  The  cornice  leaked,  the  walls  were  damp,  the 
ceiling  threatened  to  come  off;  our  neighbor's  pipe 
discharged  so  much  of  its  contents  on  the  ground  as 
to  saturate  the  wall  in  our  basement  entry,  the  area 
overflowed  into  the  cellar,  we  dug  a  cess-pool  to  let  it 
off,  and  cut  through  the  cistern  pipe  leading  to  the 
kitchen  pump.  It  could  not  be  soldered  with  water 
in  it,  and  the  cistern  must  be  run  dry  before  that 
could  be  fixed.  The  attic  tank  gave  out  again.  No 
water ! 

"  "Water,  water  everywhere, 
And  not  a  drop  "  — 

to  wash  with.  Then  came  on  a  system  of  begging. 
We  took  the  neighborhood  in  order,  and  went  from 
house  to  house,  till  we  exhausted  the  patience  and 
the  cisterns  of  every  friend  within  reach.  Then  we 
betook  ourselves  to  the  street  pump,  and  for  two 
months  we  and  the  milkman  subsisted  upon  that. 

There  was  a  grand  arrangement  of  bells  at  our 
front  door  which  seldom  failed  to  make  everybody  out 
side  mad  because  they  would  not  ring,  or  everybody 
inside  mad  because  they  rang  so  furiously.  The  con 
trivance  was,  that  two  bells  should  be  rung  by  one 
wire  ;  a  common  bell  in  the  servants'  entry,  and  a 
gong  in  the  upper  entry.  The  bell-train  was  so  heavy 
to  draw,  that  it  never  operated  till  the  man  got  angry 
and  pulled  with  the  strength  of  an  ox.  But  then  it 


went  off  with  such  a  crash  and  jingle,  -that  one  would 
think  a  band  of  music  with  all  its  cymbals  had  fallen 
through  the  sky-light  down  into  the  entry.  Thus, 
women,  children,  and  modest  men  seldom  got  in,  and 
sturdy  beggars  had  it  all  their  own  way.  It  was 
quite  edifying  to  see  experiments  performed  on  that 
bell.  A  man  would  first  give  a  modest  pull,  —  and 
then  reflect  what  he  was  about  to  say.  No  one  com 
ing,  he  gave  a  longer  pull,  and  returned  to  waiting 
and  meditation.  A  third  pull  was  the  preface  to  step 
ping  back,  surveying  the  windows,  looking  into  the 
area,  when,  seeing  signs  of  unquestionable  habitation, 
he  returns  with  flushed  face  to  the  bell ;  —  now  for  it ! 
He  pulls  as  if  he  held  a  line  by  the  side  of  a  river 
with  a  thirty-pound  salmon  on  it ;  while  all  the  bells 
go  off,  up  and  down,  till  the  house  seemed  full  of 
bells.  Things  are  not  mended  when  he  finds  the 
gentleman  of  the  house  is  not  at  home !  We  fear 
that  much  grace  has  been  lost  at  that  front  door. 

In  the  midst  of  these  luxuries  of  a  first-class  house, 
we  sometimes  would  look  wistfully  out  of  the  window, 
tempted  to  envy  the  unconscious  happiness  of  our 
two-story  neighbors.  They  had  no  conveniences^  and 
were  at  peace  ;  while  we  had  all  manner  of  conven 
iences,  that  drove  us  up  and  down  stairs  ;  —  now  to 
keep  the  flood  out,  and  then  to  bring  it  in ;  now  to 
raise  a  heat,  then  to  keep  off  a  conflagration,  so  that 
we  were  but  little  better  off  at  home  than  are  those 
innocently  insane  people  who  leave  home  every  sum 
mer,  and  go  into  the  country  to  take  care  of  twenty 
trunks  for  two  months.  But  the  cruellest  thing  of  all, 
as  we  stood  at  the  window,  was  the  pious  looks  of 
passers-by,  who  seemed  to  say  with  their  eyes,  "  A 


MODERN   CONVENIENCES   AND   FIRST-CLASS   HOUSES.      9 

man  cannot  expect  much  grace  that  lives  in  such  a 
fine  house." 

It  has  certainly  been  a  means  of  grace  to  us !  Never 
such  a  field  for  patience,  such  humbling  of  expecta 
tions  and  high  looks.  If  it  would  not  seem  like 
trifling  with  serious  subjects,  when  asked  how  one 
might  attain  to  perfection,  we  should  advise  him  to 
buy  a  first-class  house  with  modern  improvements, 
and  live  in  it  for  a  year.  If  that  did  not  fit  him  for 
translation,  he  might  well  despair  of  any  chance. 

Ye  who  envy  us,  will  you  exchange  with  us  ?  Ye 
who  laugh  sarcastically  at  ministerial  luxury,  will  you 
lend  us  your  sackcloth  and  take  our  conveniences  ? 
But  those  who  do  live  in  houses  full  of  conveniences 
will  henceforth  be  our  fast  friends.  They  will  say, 
What  if  lie  is  abolitionist,  and  we  pro-slavery  ?  What 
if  he  is  radical,  and  we  conservative  ?  The  poor 
fellow  lives  in  a  first-class  house,  and  is  punished 
enough  without  our  adding  to  his  misfortunes ! 

Meanwhile  we  practise  the  same  charity.  We  rail 
no  more  at  Fifth  Avenue,  and  admire  what  saintly 
virtue  enables  so  many  to  carry  cheerful  faces,  who 
live  in  houses  with  even  more  conveniences  than  ours. 
We  are  grateful  for  our  happier  lot.  Though  we  are 
worse  off  than  people  in  two-story  houses,  how  much 
better  are  we  placed  than  if  we  lived  in  Fifth  Avenue  ! 

We  bear  our  burden  patiently,  knowing  that  in  the 
very  moment  of  despair  persons  are  at  the  very  point 
of  deliverance.  Who  knows  but  he  may  have  a  fire 
as  well  as  his  neighbors?  One  hour  would  suffice  to 
set  a  man  free  from  all  his  troubles,  and  permit  him 
to  walk  the  streets  at  liberty,  unharassed  by  plumb 
ers,  carpenters,  tinners,  glaziers,  gas-fixers,  carpet- 
i* 


10  EYES  AND  EYES. 

fitters,    bell-hangers,    and    the    whole    tribe  of    bell- 
pullers  ! 

We  are  now  living  at  peace.  We  are  in  a  plain 
two-story  country  house,  without  "  conveniences." 
We  are  recruiting.  Nothing  gets  out  of  order.  We 
do  not  wake  to  hear  water  trickling  from  bursted 
pipes ;  we  have  no  chandelier  to  fall  down ;  the  gas 
never  leaks  ;  we  are  not  afraid  to  use  our  furniture  ; 
our  chairs  have  no  linen  clothes  on ;  the  carpets  are 
without  drugget.  The  children  bless  the  country  and 
a  country  house,  in  which  they  are  not  always  scratch 
ing  something,  or  hitting  something  with  shoe,  or 
button,  or  finger-nails.  And  we  already  feel  that  a 
few  weeks  more  will  so  far  invigorate  us  that  we  shall 
be  able  to  return  for  a  ten  months'  life  in  a  modern 
house  with  conveniences. 

* 


THE   DOG  NOBLE,   AND  THE   EMPTY  HOLE. 

August  7,  1856. 

HE  first  summer  which  we  spent  in  Lenox, 
we  had  along  a  very  intelligent  dog,  named 
Noble.  He  was  learned  in  many  things, 
and  by  his  dog-lore  excited  the  undying  ad 
miration  of  all  the  children.  But  there  were  some 
things  which  Noble  could  never  learn.  Having  on 
one  occasion  seen  a  red  squirrel  run  into  a  hole  in  a 
stone  wall,  he  could  not  be  persuaded  that  he  was  not 
there  forevermore. 

Several  red  squirrels  lived  close  to  the  house,  and 


THE  DOG  NOBLE,  AND  THE  EMPTY  HOLE.     11' 

had  become  familiar,  but  not  tame.  They  kept  up  a 
regular  romp  with  Noble.  They  would  come  down 
from  the  maple-trees  with  provoking  coolness ;  they 
would  run  along  the  fence  almost  within  reach  ;  they 
would  cock  their  tails  and  sail  across  the  road  to  the 
barn  ;  and  yet  there  was  such  a  well-timed  calculation 
under  all  this  apparent  rashness,  that  Noble  invariably 
arrived  at  the  critical  spot  just  as  the  squirrel  left  it. 

On  one  occasion  Noble  was  so  close  upon  his  red- 
backed  friend  that,  unable  to  get  up  the  maple-tree, 
he  dodged  into  a  hole  in  the  wall,  ran  through  the 
chinks,  emerged  at  a  little  distance,  and  sprung  into 
the  tree.  The  intense  enthusiasm  of  the  dog  at  that 
hole  can  hardly  be  described.  He  filled  it  full  of 
barking.  He  pawed  and  scratched  as  if  undermining 
a  bastion.  Standing  off  at  a  little  distance,  he  would 
pierce  the  hole  with  a  gaze  as  intense  and  fixed  as  if 
lie  were  trying  magnetism  on  it.  Then,  with  tail 
extended,  and,  every  hair  thereon  electrified,  he  would 
rush  at  the  empty  hole  with  a  prodigious  onslaught. 

This  imaginary  squirrel  haunted  Noble  night  and 
day.  The  very  squirrel  himself  would  run  up  before 
his  face  into  the  tree,  and,  crouched  in  a  crotch,  would 
sit  silently  watching  the  whole  process  of  bombarding 
the  empty  hole,  with  great  sobriety  and  relish.  But 
Noble  would  allow  of  no  doubts.  His  conviction  that 
that  hole  had  a  squirrel  in  it  continued  unshaken  for 
six  weeks.  When  all  other  occupations  failed,  this  hole 
remained  to  him.  When  there  were  no  more  chickens 
to  harry,  no  pigs  to  bite,  no  cattle  to  chase,  no  chil 
dren  to  romp  with,  no  expeditions  to  make  with  the 
grown  folks,  and  when  he  had  slept  all  that  his  dog 
skin  would  hold,  he  would  walk  out  of  the  yard,  yawn 


12  EYES   AND   EARS. 

and  stretch  himself,  and  then  look  wistfully  at  the 
hole,  as  if  thinking  to  himself,  "  Well,  as  there  is 
nothing  else  to  do,  I  may  as  well  try  that  hole  again  !  " 

We  had  almost  forgotten  this  little  trait,  until  the 
conduct  of  the  New  York  Express,  in  respect  to 
Colonel  Fremont's  religion,  brought  it  ludicrously  to 
mind  again.  Colonel  Fremont  is,  and  always  has 
been,  as  sound  a  Protestant  as  John  Knox  ever  was. 
He  was  bred  in  the  Protestant  faith,  and  has  never 
changed.  He  is  unacquainted  with  the  doctrines  and 
ceremonies  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  has  never 
attended  the  services  of  that  Church,  with  two  or 
three  exceptions,  when  curiosity,  or  some  extrinsic 
reason,  led  him  as  a  witness.  We  do  not  state  this 
upon  vague  belief.  We  know  what  we  say.  We  say 
it  upon  our  own  personal  honor  and  proper  knowl 
edge.  Colonel  Fremont  never  was,  and  is  not  now,  a 
Roman  Catholic.  He  has  never  been  wont  to  attend 
that  Church.  Nor  has  he  in  any  way,  directly  or  in 
directly,  given  occasion  for  this  report. 

It  is  a  gratuitous  falsehood,  —  utter,  barren,  abso 
lute,  and  unqualified.  The  story  has  been  got  up  for 
political  effect.  It  is  still  circulated  for  that  reason, 
and,  like  other  political  lies,  it  is  a  sheer,  unscrupu 
lous  falsehood,  from  top  to  bottom,  from  the  core  to 
the  skin,  and  from  the  skin  back  to  the  core  again. 
In  all  its  parts,  in  pulp,  tegument,  rind,  cell,  and 
seed,  it  is  a  thorough  and  total  untruth,  and  they  who 
spread  it  bear  false  witness.  And  as  to  all  the  stories 
of  the  Fulmer,  etc.,  as  to  supposed  conversations  with 
Fremont,  in  which  he  defended  the  mass,  and  what 
not,  they  are  pure  fictions.  They  never  happened. 
The  authors  of  them  are  slanderers ;  the  men  to  be- 


THE  DOG  NOBLE,  AND  THE  EMPTY  HOLE.     13 

lieve  them  are  dupes ;  the  men  who  spread  them 
become  indorsers  of  wilful  and  corrupt  libellers. 

But  the  Express,  like  Noble,  has  opened  on  this 
hole  in  the  wall,  and  can  never  be  done  barking  at  it. 
Day  after  day  it  resorts  to  this  empty  hole.  When 
everything  else  fails,  this  resource  remains.  There 
they  are,  indefatigably,  —  the  Express  and  Noble,  —  a 
church  without  a  Fremont,  and  a  hole  without  a 
squirrel  in  it ! 

In  some  respects,  however,  the  dog  had  the  advan 
tage.  Sometimes  we  thought  that  he  really  believed 
that  there  was  a  squirrel  there.  But  at  other  times 
he  apparently  had  an  inkling  of  the  ridiculousness  of 
his  conduct,  for  he  would  drop  his  tail,  and  walk 
towards  us  with  his  tongue  out,  and  his  eyes  a  little 
'aslant,  seeming  to  say :  "  My  dear  sir,  you  don't 
understand  a  dog's  feelings.  I  should  of  course  much 
prefer  a  squirrel,  but  if  I  can't  have  that,  an  empty 
hole  is  better  than  nothing.  I  imagine  how  I  would 
catch  him  if  he  was  there.  Besides,  people  who  pass 
by  don't  know  the  facts.  They  think  that  I  have  got 
something.  It  is  needful  to  keep  up  my  reputation 
for  sagacity.  Besides,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  looked 
into  that  hole  so  long  that  I  have  half  persuaded 
myself  that  there  is  a  squirrel  there,  or  will  be,  if  I 
keep  on." 

Well,  every  dog  must  have  his  day,  and  every  dog 
must  have  his  way.  No  doubt  if  we  were  to  bring 
back  Noble  now,  after  two  summers'  absence,  he 
would  make  straight  for  that  hole  in  the  wall  with 
just  as  much  zeal  as  ever. 

We  never  read  the  Express,  now-a-days,  without 
thinking  involuntarily,  "  Goodness  !  the  dog  is  letting 
off  at  that  hole  again."  ^ 


14  EYES  AND  EARS. 


LITCHFIELD    KEVISITED. 


HE  progression  of  life  is  so  simple,  and,  in 
the  greatest  number  of  persons,  so  quiet, 
that  men  only  know,  at  length,  that  they 
are  changed,  but  seldom  perceive  the  pro 
cess  of  changing.  We  know  that  we  are  no  longer 
boys,  but  cannot  tell  when  we  crossed  the  line.  We 
are  conscious  that  we  have  reached  manhood,  and 
that  youth  has  departed.  But  so  gently  did  it  go, 
that  we  are  as  those  who  listen  to  a  bird  singing  in 
a  tree.  After  it  has  flown,  they  listen  still,  and  only 
know  its  flight  because  it  no  longer  sings. 

But  now  and  then  we  are  turned  back,  and  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  past,  in  such  a  way  that  two  lives 
gaze  at  each  other ;  and  we  walk  as  if  one  identity 
had  two  expressions. 

The  recollections  of  the  past  beat  upon  the  heart, 
and  we  stood  in  its  door,  as  a  parent  to  whom  comes 
back  the  child  not  seen  for  scores  of  years,  uncertain 
whether  to  doubt  or  to  accept  the  familiar  strangeness. 
After  long  absence,  let  any  one  revisit  the  scenes  of 
his  childhood  home,  and  see  whether  these  things  be 
not  so.  There  will  be  a  soft  bewilderment,  a  sad  joy 
of  excitement,  which,  perhaps,  one  may  not  be  able 
to  analyze,  but  which  is,  in  fact,  the  flowing  together 
of  the  two  great  streams  of  life,  the  past  and  the 
present. 

Surely,  Old  Litchfield  was  a  blessed  place  for  one's 
birth  and  childhood.  Although  there  were  no  moun 
tains,  there  were  hills,  —  the  oldest-born  of  moun 
tains  ;  high,  round,  and  innumerable.  Great  trees 


LITCHFIELD   REVISITED.  15 

there  were ;  full  of  confidences  with  the  wind  that 
chastised  them  in  winter,  and  kissed  and  caressed 
them  all  the  summer.  The  roar  of  winter  winds  to 
our  young  ears  was  terrible  as  the  thunder  of  waves 
or  the  noise  of  battle.  All  night  long  the  cold,  shel 
terless  trees  moaned.  Their  strong  crying  penetrated 
our  sleep,  and  shaped  our  dreams.  At  every  waking, 
the  air  was  full  of  mighty  winds.  The  house  creaked 
and  strained,  and,  at  some  more  furious  gust,  shud 
dered  and  trembled  all  over.  Then  the  windows  rat 
tled,  the  cracks  and  crevices  whistled  each  its  own 
distinctive  note,  and  the  chimneys,  like  diapasons  in 
an  organ,  had  their  deep  and  hollow  rumble.  Each 
room  had  its  own  note,  and,  if  carried  blindfold,  we 
could  have  told  the  rooms  over  all  the  house  by  the 
peculiar  wind-sound  which  each  had. 

Next  to  the  winds,  our  night-experiences  in  early 
boyhood  were  much  affected  by  rats.  The  old  house 
seems  to  have  been  a  favorite  of  this  curious  vermin. 
There  is  something  in  the  short,  hot  glitter  of  a  rat's 
eye  that  has  never  ceased  to  affect  us  unpleasantly. 
We  could  not  help  imagining  them  to  be  the  mere 
receptacles  of  mischievous  spirits,  and  their  keen  eyes 
had  always  a  kind  of  mocking  expression,  as  if  they 
said,  "  You  think  we  are  rats,  but  if  we  get  hold  of 
you,  you  will  know  that  we  are  a  good  deal  more  than 
that."  We  never  could  estimate  how  many  populated 
our  old  house.  The  walls  seemed  like  city  thorough 
fares,  arid  the  ceiling  like  a  Forum  or  a  Roman  thea 
tre.  We  used  to  lie  in  bed  and  marvel  at  what  was 
going  on.  Sometimes  there  would  be  a  great  still 
ness,  as  if  they  had  all  gone  to  meeting.  Then  again 
they  would  troop  about  with  such  a  swell  of  liberty 


16  EYES   AND   EARS. 

and  gladness,  that  it  was  quite  plain  that  the  meeting 
was  out.  But  nothing  ever  scared  and  amused  us  so 
much  as  their  way  of  going  up  and  down  the  parti 
tions.  At  first,  up  would  come  one,  then  another, 
and  finally  quite  a  bevy,  squeaking  and  frolicking,  as 
if  they  were'schoolboys  going  up  stairs,  nipping  each 
other  and  cutting  up  all  manner  of  pranks.  Then 
came  a  stillness.  Next,  a  premonitory  rat  would  rush 
down,  evidently  full  of  news,  and  immediately  down 
would  pour  after  him  a  stream  of  rats,  rushing  like 
mad,  and  apparently  tumbling  heels  over  head.  By 
and  by,  some  old  sawyer  would  commence  where  he 
left  off  the  night  before,  cutting  the  same  partition. 
To  this  must  be  added  nibblings,  rat-nestled  paper,  ah 
occasional  race  of  rats  across  the  bed,  the  manipula 
tion  of  corn  in  the  garret,  the  forays  with  cats  and 
kittens,  the  rat-engines,  —  "steel-traps,"  "box-traps," 
"figure-fours,"  and  all  manner  of  devices,  —  in  spite 
of  which  the  rats  held  their  own,  and,  if  allowed  suf 
frage,  would  have  out-voted  the  whole  family,  dog  and 
cats  to  boot,  four  to  one. 

The  morning  after  our  arrival  in  Litchfield  we  sal 
lied  forth  alone.  The  day  was  high  and  wide,  full  of 
stillness,  and  serenely  radiant.  As  we  carried  our 
present  life  up  the  North  Street,  we  met  at  every  step 
our  boyhood  life  coming  down.  There  were  the  old 
trees,  but  looking  not  so  large  as  to  our  young  eyes. 
The  stately  road  had,  however,  been  bereaved  of  the 
button-ball  trees,  which  had  been  crippled  by  disease. 
But  the  old  elms  retained  a  habit  peculiar  to  Litch 
field.  There  seems  to  be  a  current  of  wind  which  at 
times  passes  high  up  in  the  air  over  the  town,  and 
which  moves  the  tops  of  the  trees,  while  on  the  ground 


LITCHFIELD   REVISITED.  17 

there  is  no  movement  of  wind.  How  vividly  did  that 
sound  from  above  bring  back  early  days,  when  for 
hours  we  lay  upon  the  windless  grass,  and  watched 
the  top  leaves  flutter,  and  marked  how  still  were  the 
under  leaves  of  the  same  trees  ! 

One  by  one  came  the  old  houses.  On  the  corner 
stood  and  stands  the  jail,  —  awful  building  to  young 
sinners !  We  never  passed  its  grated  windows  with 
out  a  salutary  chill.  The  old  store,  and  the  same  old 
name,  Buell,  on  it ;  the  bank,  and  its  long,  lean  legs 
spindling  up  to  hold  the  shelf  up  under  the  roof! 
The  Colonel  Tallmadge  house,  that  used  to  seem  so 
grand  that  it  was  cold,  but  whose  cherry-trees  in  the 
front-yard  seemed  warm  enough  and  attractive  to  our 
longing  lips  and  watery  mouth.  How  well  do  we 
'remember  the  stately  gait  of  the  venerable  Colonel  of 
Revolutionary  memory !  We  do  not  recollect  that 
he  ever  spoke  to  us  or  greeted  us.  Not  because  he 
was  austere  or  unkind,  but  from  a  kind  of  military 
reserve.  We  thought  him  good  and  polite,  but  should 
as  soon  have  thought  of  climbing  the  church  steeple 
as  of  speaking  to  one  living  so  high  and  venerable 
above  all  boys  ! 

Then  came  Judge  Gould's !  Did  we  not  remember 
that,  and  the  faces  that  used  to  illumine  it  ?  The 
polished  and  polite  judge,  the  sons  and  daughters,  the 
little  office  in  the  yard,  the  successive  classes  of  law 
students  that  received  here  that  teaching  which  has 
since  so  often  honored  both  bar  and  bench.  Here, 
too,  and  we  stopped  to  retrace  the  very  place,  being 
set  on  by  a  fiery  young  Southern  blood,  without  any 
cause  that  we  knew  of  then  or  can  remember  now, 
we  undertook  to  whip  one  of  Judge  Gould's  sons,  and 


18  EYES   AND  EAES. 

did  not  do  it.  We  never  were  satisfied  with  the  re 
sult,  and  think  if  the  thing  could  be  reviewed  now  it 
might  turn  out  differently. 

There,  too,  stood  Dr.  Catlin's  house,  looking  as  if 
the  rubs  of  time  had  polished  it,  instead  of  injuring. 
Next  there  seemed  to  our  puzzled  memory  a  vacancy. 
Ought  there  not  to  be  about  there  a  Holmes  house,  — 
to  which  we  used  to  go  and  get  baskets  of  Virgaloo 
pears,  and  were  inwardly  filled,  as  a  satisfying  method 
of  keeping  us  honest  toward  the  pears  in  the  basket  ? 

But  Dr.  Sheldon's  house  is  all  right.  Dear  old  Dr. 
Sheldon  !  We  began  to  get  well  as  soon  as  he  came 
into  the  house.  Or  if  the  evil  spirit  delayed,  a  little 
"  cream  o'  tartar,  with  hot  water  poured  upon  it,  and 
sweetened,"  finished  the  work.  He  had  learned,  long 
before  the  days  of  homoeopathy,  that  a  doctor's  chief 
business  is  to  keep  parents  from  giving  their  children 
medicine,  so  that  Nature  may  have  a  fair  chance  at 
the  disease,  without  having  its  attention  divided  or 
diverted. 

But  now  we  stop  before  Miss  Pierce's,  —  a  name 
known  in  thousands  of  families,  when  gray-haired 
mothers  remember  the  soft  and  gentle  days  of  Litch- 
field  schooling  !  The  fine  residence  is  well  preserved, 
and  time  hath  been  gentle  within  likewise.  But  the 
school-house  is  gone,  and  she  that  for  so  many  years 
kept  it  busy  is  gone,  and  the  throng  that  have  crossed 
its  threshold  brood  the  whole  globe  with  offices  of 
maternal  love.  The  Litchfield  Law  School,  in  the 
days  of  Judge  Tapping  Reeve  and  Judge  Gould,  and 
Miss  Pierce's  Female  School,  were,  in  their  day,  two 
very  memorable  institutions ;  and,  though  since  sup 
planted  by  others  upon  a  larger  scale,  there  are  few 


LITCHFIELD   REVISITED.  19 

that  will  have  performed  so  much,  if  we  take  into 
account  the  earliness  of  the  times,  and  the  fact  that 
they  were  pioneers  and  parents  of  those  that  have 
supplanted  them.  But  they  are  gone,  the  buildings 
moved  off,  and  the  ground  smoothed,  and  soft  to  the 
foot  with  green  grass.  No  more  shall  the  setting  sun 
see  Litchfield  streets  thronged  with  young  gentlemen 
and  ladies,  and  filling  the  golden  air  with  laughter, 
or  low  converse  which,  un-laughing  then,  made  life 
musical  forever  after ! 

But  where  is  the  Brace  house  ?  An  old  red  house, — 
red  once,  but  picked  at  by  winds,  and  washed  by  rains, 
till  the  color  was  neutral.  Thanks  to  the  elements, 
the  old  elm-trees  guard  the  spot,  a  brotherhood  as 
noble  as  these  eyes  have  ever  seen,  lifted  high  up,  and 
in  the  part  nearest  heaven  locking  their  arms  together, 
and  casting  back  upon  their  separate  trunks  and  bole 
an  undivided  shade.  So  are  many,  separate  in  root 
and  trunk,  united  far  up  by  their  heaven-touching 
thoughts  and  affections. 

Mrs.  Lord's  house  is  the  only  one  now  before  we 
reach  our  own  native  spot.  This,  too,  holds  its  own, 
and  is  fertile  in  memories.  Across  the  way  lived 
Sheriff  Landon,  famous  for  dry  wit  and  strong  poli 
tics.  A  thread  there  spun  has  stretched  far  down 
into  later  time,  and  been  woven  in  the  light  and  dark 
of  after-figures  in  the  fabric  of  life.  But  south  of 
him  lived  the  greatest  man  in  town,  Mr.  Parkes,  that 
owned  the  stages  !  and  the  wittiest  man  in  town  with 
us  boys  was  Hiram  Barnes,  that  drove  stage  for  him  ! 
To  be  sure,  neither  of  them  were  eminent  for  learn 
ing  or  civil  influence.  But  in  that  temple  which  boys' 
imaginations  make,  a  stage-proprietor  and  a  stage- 


20  EYES   AND   EARS. 

driver  stand  forth  as  grand  as  Minerva  in  the  Par 
thenon  ! 

But  there  are  houses  on  the  other  side.  The  eastern 
side  of  Litchfield  North  Street,  like  the  eastern  side  of 
Broadway,  was  never  so  acceptable  to  fashion,  albeit 
some  memorable  names  lived  there.  It  was  our  good 
fortune  to  be  born  on  the  west  side  of  the  street.  We 
know  not  what  blessings  must  have  descended  upon 
us  from  having  been  born  on  the  fashionable  side  of 
the  street.  One  shudders  to  think  how  near  he  escaped 
being  born  on  the  other  side,  —  the  east  side  of  the 
street. 

But  there  is  our  own  old  home  !  Of  this  we  must 
not  speak  at  the  end  of  a  long  article. 

* 


PHRENOLOGY. 
How  TO  MAKE  PREACHING  HIT. 


HE  Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  is  quoted  as 
having  said  in  a  sermon  that  he  believed 
Phrenology,  and  owed  to  the  "  practical 
knowledge  of  the  human  soul  "  thence 
acquired  whatever  success  he  had  had  "  in  bringing 
the  truths  of  the  Gospel  to  bear  practically  upon  the 
minds  of  men."  The  Catholic  Herald  thinks  there  is 
something  in  this,  but  suggests  to  Mr.  Beecher  that 
there  is  a  lack  of  desirable  certainty  in  this  process 
of  gathering  the  character  of  one's  congregation  by 
surveying  the  cranial  developments,  and  that  they 
have  something  far  better. 


PHRENOLOGY.  21 

"  Now,  just  where  Phrenology  fails,  the  confessional 
succeeds.  No  bumps  are  studied,  and  no  character 
istic  is  guessed  at.  The  penitent  says  plainly  and 
distinctly,  '  Thus  and  thus  I  thought,  and  thus  and 
thus  I  did.'  £  So  I  acted,  and  so  I  failed  to  act.' 

"  If  he  says,  '  I  took  that  wrongfully  which  was 
another's,'  it  is  not  necessary  that  the  confessor 
should  know  that  there  is  a  bump  of  accretiveness. 
If  he  say,  '  I  have  been  violent,  and  struck  my  asso 
ciate,'  what  is  the  need  of  knowing  that  he  has  a 
development  of  the  organ  of  '  combativeness.'  If 
he  is  sinful  in  thought,  and  not  in  act,  the  tendency 
is  better  manifested  by  confession  than  by  physical 
development ;  and  in  all  cases  the  teacher  in  the 
confessional  is  close  to  him,  and  ready  to  give  the 
advice,  adminster  the  commonition  or  discipline,  or 
offer  consolation  and  encouragement,  that  the  whole 
circumstances  of  the  case  demand. 

"  Mr.  Beecher  asks  the  head  of  his  hearers,  that 
he  may  deal  with  the  concerns  of  their  souls,  while  a 
Catholic  priest  says,  '  My  son,  give  me  thy  heart.' ' 

The  Examiner,  a  Baptist  paper  of  New  York, 
adds :  "  It  may  be  allowed  a  third  party  to  suggest, 
that  both  methods  have  some  defect.  The  phreno 
logical  inference  is  not  infallible  ;  the  '  penitent '  may 
not  tell  the  full  and  exact  truth.  What  then  ?  " 

In  regard  to  this  matter  of  Phrenology,  a  few  words 
may  not  be  amiss. 

1.  When  we  employ  the  term  Phrenology,  it  con 
veys  to  our  mind  no  such  idea  as  a  science  of  bumps, 
as  it  is  vulgarly  called :  nor  is  it  Craniology,  or  a 
science  of  the  skull.  It  is  the  science  of  the  mind. 
It  includes  within  its  circle  the  nature,  conditions, 


22  EYES   AND  EARS. 

and  habits  of  the  human  mind,  as  far  as  they  are 
known. 

The  only  thing  which  many  people  suppose  Phre 
nology  to  teach  is,  that  mental  traits  can  be  discovered 
by  the  conformation  of  the  head.  But  this  is  its  least 
value.  It  is  not  unimportant.  It  has  a  degree  of  use 
in  practical  life.  But,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  it 
alone  will  be  serviceable  principally  in  exaggerated 
and  imperfect  heads,  and  doubtful  and  difficult  in  pro 
portion  as  one's  mind  is  generally  and  evenly  de 
veloped.  Phrenology  assumes  the  brain  to  be  the 
organ  of  the  mind.  It  teaches  that  the  brain  is  not  a 
simple  unity,  but  a  congeries  of  organs  ;  that  special 
faculties  employ  several  special  portions  of  the  brain 
for  their  manifestation ;  that  the  skull,  in  general, 
conforms  to  the  brain,  and  indicates  the  size  of  its 
different  parts.  But,  then,  what  is  the  quality  of  the 
substance  of  the  brain  ?  is  it  fine  and  healthy  ?  or  is 
it  coarse  and  flabby  ?  This  must  be  known,  also ; 
and  it  is  to  be  judged  by  the  general  appearance  of 
the  man,  his  temperament,  skin,  muscle,  etc.  In  like 
manner,  the  quantity  and  quality  of  blood  which 
flows  upon  the  brain  and  stimulates  it,  determine  the 
power  of  action  to  a  certain  degree,  and  this  must  be 
judged  by  the  size  of  the  organs  of  digestion,  of  aera 
tion,  and  of  propulsion,  or,  in  other  words,  by  the 
form  and  perfection  of  the  organs  of  the  trunk.  The 
head  alone  does  not  indicate  character.  But  the 
head,  the  texture  of  the  skin  and  muscle,  the  build  of 
the  body,  and,  lastly,  the  expression  of  the  face,  pos 
ture,  gesture.  It  takes  the  whole  man  to  be  the 
proper  index  of  man.  And  Phrenology,  as  the  sci 
ence  of  the  mind,  includes  in  its  circuit  whatever  the 


PHRENOLOGY.  23 

mind  uses,  and  whatever  in  the  human  body  aids, 
modifies,  or  influences  the  mind.  Of  course,  Physi 
ognomy,  Physiology,  etc.,  are,  to  a  degree,  included 
in  its  limits. 

We  are  far  from  regarding  Phrenology  as  a  com 
pleted  science.  Indeed,  we  believe  that  more  yet 
remains  to  be  done  than  has  been  done.  But  ado 
lescent  and  undeveloped  as  it  yet  is,  we  regard  it  as 
incomparably  beyond  anything  which  has  been  re 
garded  as  a  science  of  mind. 

2.  Although  a  knowledge  of  Organology,  and  a 
certain  facility  of  judging  men's  nature  from  the 
structure,  is  desirable,  yet,  if  one  did  not  know  a  sin 
gle  external  phase  of  Phrenology,  if  he  accepted  its 
classification  and  division  of  faculties,  and  its  laws  of 
combination  and  activity,  he  would  derive  from  these 
more  advantage  in  the  use  of  himself,  and  in  his 
judgment  of  others,  than  could  be  had  from  all  other 
systems.  And  this,  chiefly,  because  the  faculties  are 
precise  and  specific,  discriminated  one  from  another, 
and  consonant  with  the  experiences  and  observations 
of  men  in  daily  life. 

We  do  not  say,  that  to  a  Phrenologist  the  human 
soul  becomes  clear  as  crystal ;  that  he  can  walk  about 
and  read  men  like  large  printed  placards.  No  such 
thing!  There  is  great  skill  required,  much  experi 
ence,  careful  observation,  and  even  then  there  will 
be  many  mistakes  made,  and  much  found  that  will 
baffle  the  most  penetrating.  All  that  can  be  said 
properly  is,  that  practical  Phrenology  adds  very 
largely  to  our  stock  of  knowledge,  that  it  simplifies 
many  things  which  in  other  systems  are  obscure,  that 
it  very  materially  helps  us  even  when  it  does  not  give 


24  EYES  AND   EARS. 

us  the  whole,  and  especially,  that  it  gives  us  the  right 
direction  of  research,  and  the  right  method,  so  that 
whatever  we  do  read  is  more  likely  to  be  sober  truth, 
than  the  results  of  the  spider-systems  of  philosophy, 
in  which  each  philosopher  spun  his  theory  in  some 
corner,  from  the  web-bag  of  his  own  personal  con 
sciousness,  and  left  his  starved  disciples  to  hang  upon 
it  like  flies  upon  cobwebs. 

3.  The  usefulness  of  Phrenology  to  a  minister  of 
the  Gospel  is  to  be  settled  by  asking  the  question, 
Is  it  beneficial  to  a  teacher  and  healer  of  the  mind  to 
know  what  the  human  mind  is,  and  what  are  the  laws 
of  its  action? 

It  is  a  mere  impertinence  to  say  that  the  knowledge 
of  the  human  mind,  or  of  Phrenology  or  the  science 
of  mind,  will  not  secure  a  man  from  mistakes.  Noth 
ing  will  secure  a  man  from  mistakes  but  Death. 
That  settles  everything  very  accurately. 

Are  not  the  sciences  of  Anatomy  and  Physiology  to 
be  studied  ?  and  yet  the  most  skilful  physician  blun 
ders  every  day  of  his  life.  Is  there  no  use  in  mechan 
ics,  because  the  artisan  commits  mistakes  ?  Ought 
not  an  artist  to  dissect  and  study  the  human  structure, 
because  the  best-instructed  students  err  in  drawing  ? 

No  man  will  ever  know  the  human  soul  so  well  as 
to  be  able  to  judge  rightly,  trace  skilfully  and  aim 
accurately,  every  time.  Man  is  too  vast  an  organiza 
tion  to  be  judged  as  we  would  a  fly.  Men,  acting 
in  masses,  played  upon  by  a  thousand  diverse  influ 
ences,  changing  their  fancies  every  hour,  yet  under 
all  changes  true  to  some  certain  ruling  impulses  ; 
strangely  blended  with  good  and  evil,  —  good  and 
evil  that  come  and  go  as  the  shadows  of  wind-shaken 


PHRENOLOGY.  25 

leaves  do  upon  the  tremulous  waters,  —  are  not  to  be 
known  with  the  same  precision  as  we  know  inanimate 
things,  or  the  simple  and  constant  laws  of  nature. 

But  there  is  a  great  difference  between  knowing  noth 
ing  and  knowing  something.  There  is  a  great  benefit, 
in  practical  affairs,  in  a  degree  of  knowledge  which  is 
altogether  too  vague  for  scientific  uses  ;  and  no  minis 
ter  of  the  Gospel  can  afford  to  be  without  a  practical 
knowledge  of  men,  and  in  gaining  that,  nothing  will 
aid  him  more  than  a  use  of  the  materials  afforded  by 
Phrenology.  And  if,  when  he  has  done  all  that  he  can, 
he  finds  that  he  is  far  from  a  perfect  understanding 
of  man  in  all  the  mazes  of  his  daily  activities,  he  will 
still  know  vastly  more  than  if  he  had  not  at  all  ex 
plored  the  springs  of  action  and  the  laws  of  activity. 

Our  Roman  Catholic  friend  must  be  simple  indeed, 
if  he  thinks  that  the  Confessional  is  the  grand  means 
of  knowledge.  A  few  overt  actions  may  be  found  out 
there.  But  what  does  it  reveal  of  the  inward  states, 
the  multitude  of  fancies,  the  swarm  of  thoughts  that 
spring  and  spread  themselves  in  an  instant  the  world 
over,  like  the  rosy  flushes  of  sunset  rays,  spread  through 
half  a  hemisphere  in  a  moment,  and  in  a  moment 
retracted  and  vanished,  —  of  all  those  dark  passions 
that  lurk,  but  never  appear,  —  of  those  moods  of  mind 
that  have  no  language,  that  never  form  themselves 
into  ideas,  and  that  yet  do  fever  the  whole  being  and 
change  the  complexion  of  thought  and  purpose  ? 

One  might  as  well  suppose  that  he  could  learn  the 
whole  mystery  of  generation  and  life,  because  he  heard 
the  hen  cackle  when  she  laid  her  egg,  as  to  suppose 
that  the  priest  knows  the  human  soul,  because  the 
thief  told  his  theft  and  the  murderer  his  crime. 

2  * 


26  EYES   AND  EARS. 


LETTERS  FROM  THE   COUNTRY. 

Mountain  Rest,  Matteawan,  August,  1857. 

N  returning  from  an  excursion  the  other 
day,  one  of  the  children  called  our  summer 
home  the  Mountain  Rest.  That,  then,  shall 
be  its  name,  most  fitly  given.  It  lies  snugly, 
close  up  under  the  North  Beacon.  The  North  and 
South  Beacons  form  the  two  sides  of  an  immense 
mountain  bowl,  and  the  highest  point  is  marked  upon 
local  maps  as  1,650  feet  high.  If  we  were  any  nearer 
to  the  mountain,  we  should  be  on  it.  We  touch  the 
hem  of  its  garment.  We  are  adopted  into  its  favor. 
Every  day  it  breathes  a  blessing  upon  us.  All  the 
loose  winds  that  fly  about  without  anybody  to  take 
care  of  them  in  the  high  pastures  of  the  upper  realm, 
it  collects  in  its  shepherd  bosom,  and,  feeding  them 
with  moistness  and  the  balsamic  odors  of  pine-leaves 
and  other  evergreens,  it  sends  them  down  upon  us  in 
refreshing  draughts  and  puffs.  Yonder,  in  parcels, 
lies  the  Hudson ;  beyond  it  the  sparkling  city  of  New- 
burg,  most  beautiful  in  the  distance.  At  night  its 
windows,  star-like,  speak  through  the  dark  air  of  hun 
dreds  of  families  gathered  for  the  evening.  And  Pow 
ell's  factory,  close  upon  the  water's  edge,  with  its 
lines  of  brilliant  lights,  is  like  a  fiery-eyed  battalion 
watching  the  ford,  or  ferry  rather.  Farther  back 
swells  up  a  young  mountain,  behind  Newburg,  just 
large  enough  to  hang  clouds  on  for  splendid  sunsets  ; 
and  farthest  of  all,  the  long  blue  horizon  line  made 
by  the  Shawangunk  mountains,  the  bound  of  our 
sight,  to  whose  level  summits  the  sun  attracts  our 


LETTERS   FEOM   THE   COUNTRY.  27 

evening  eyes,  and  rewards  them  by  ten  thousand  val 
iant  feats  of  clouds  and  colors.  South  of  us  are  the 
Storm  King  mountains,  and  the  pass  of  the  Hudson 
through  the  Highlands. 

There  is  nothing  so  simple  and  apparently  unchang 
ing  as  are  mountains.  And  yet  there  is  no  variety  in 
tree,  in  plain,  in  river  or  lake,  that  can  be  compared 
to  mountain  variations.  Upon  nothing  else  does  the 
atmosphere  work  such  wonderful  effects.  We  do  not 
refer  to  those  vast  heights  whose  snow  and  ice-clad 
summits  play  with  such  witching  effects  with  light 
and  color ;  but  to  our  lower  and  home-bred  moun 
tains.  This  one  behind  us,  not  two  thousand  feet 
high,  is  a  solemn  necromancer,  forever  putting  forth 
new  fancies. 

It  wears  one  face  in  the  morning ;  it  changes  its 
countenance  at  noon  ;  it  surprises  you  with  still  an 
other  at  night.  It  has  one  face  for  heat,  and  one  for 
the  cold.  It  shags  and  beards  itself  with  mists,  look 
ing  down  upon  you  venerable  as  a  hoary  seer.  Then 
it  drives  away  every  vestige  of  cloud,  and  reveals  to 
the  eye  each  line,  every  depression,  every  crease  and 
crevice,  with  such  plainness  that  it  changes  the  whole 
mountain  expression,  and  you  doubt  whether  you 
have  ever  before  seen  it.  A  new  picture  stands  be 
fore  you  every  day,  and  yet  its  identity  is  preserved, 
so  that  it  maintains  its  old  associations  with  new  sites 
of  beauty.  Not  a  cloud  can  come  near  without  pay 
ing  some  tribute.  Sometimes  you  shall  see  a  vast 
range  of  white,  glistering  clouds  piled  up  in  banks 
and  brilliant  boulders,  one  upon  another  silently  ris 
ing  up  behind  the  green  mountain,  that  thus  appears 
but  a  foreground  figured  upon  this  magnificent  range 
of  air-mountains. 


28  EYES  AND  EARS. 

At  other  times,  fleets  of  clouds  are  seen  piloting 
their  way  quietly  through  the  air,  and  letting  down 
their  shadows  upon  the  mountain-side,  as  if  to  anchor 
there.  But  both  cloud-ship  and  cloud-anchor  move 
on,  dark  below  and  white  above !  It  would  seem  as 
if  the  smile  of  the  cloud  was  the  frown  of  the  moun 
tain. 

But  all  these  are  mere  fancies  compared  with  the 
grandeur  of  mountains  when  storms  make  them  their 
walking-ground.  After  long  heat  and  dryness,  the 
mountains  seem  to  shrink  back,  lose  distinctness,  and 
become  almost  insignificant.  The  summer,  which 
shrivels  vegetation  with  long  droughts,  seems  to  parch 
and  shrink  the  very  rocks.  But,  suddenly,  from  the 
South  there  come  up  the  tokens  of  a  thunder-storm. 
Storms  especially  love  mountain  highways,  and  walk 
upon  their  summits  with  a  majesty  unknown  in  low 
lands.  Upon  such  a  theatre  the  spectacle,  lifted  up 
above  you,  exhibits  itself  with  a  grandeur  that  recalls 
the  noble  old  conception,  that  God  rides  upon  storms, 
and  tabernacles  himself  in  clouds  upon  mountain-tops. 
Indeed,  we  never  see  that  half-scared  motion  of  cloud- 
folds  rolling  out  from  the  interior,  as  if  there  were  an 
inner  presence  which  drove  forth  the  terrified  mists, 
and  justified  their  fear  by  headlong  thunderbolts  and 
fierce  lightning-flashes,  without  an  irresistible  impres 
sion  of  a  real  living  agency  at  work  within  the  storm ; 
and  that  clouds  are  but  the  hiding  of  the  Divine  Pres 
ence! 

Nor  is  the  imagination  lessened  when  the  murky 
splendor  passes  on,  and  the  mountain  lifts  up  its 
cleansed  head  and  sides  with  such  vivid  green,  and  in 
such  clearness  and  exquisite  beauty,  that  you  feel  as 


LETTERS  FROM  THE   COUNTRY.  29 

if  they  had  been  in  communion  with  superior  influ 
ence,  and  had  received  a  baptism  from  on  high.  This 
never  seemed  more  striking  than  yesterday.  While 
in  church,  in  the  morning,  there  came  on  a  sudden 
dash  of  rain  and  hail.  We  rode  home  with  the  moun 
tains  before  us  wearing  robes  of  clouds,  and  grand 
with  flying  storm.  To  look  at  these  tops,  and  to  re 
call  all  the  passages  of  the  Old  Testament  which  speak 
divinely  of  mountains,  would  be  a  sermon  more  im 
pressive  than  any  from  the  living  voice. 

By  the  way,  yesterday  morning  I  was  at  the  Metho 
dist  church  here.  A  very  pleasant  room  it  is,  and  I 
am  told  that  a  very  worthy  society  occupy  it.  But  I 
have  a  most  weighty  charge  to  bring  against  the  good 
people,  of  musical  apostasy.  I  had  expected  a  treat 
of  good  hearty  singing.  There  were  Charles  Wesley's 
hymns,  and  there  were  the  good  old  Methodist  tunes 
that  ancient  piety  loved  and  modern  conceit  laughs 
atl  Imagine  my  chagrin  when,  after  reading  the 
hymn,  up  rose  a  choir  from  the  shelf  at  the  other  end 
of  the  church,  and  began  to  sing  a  monotonous  tune 
of  the  modern  music-book  style.  The  patient  congre 
gation  stood  up  meekly  to  be  sung  to,  as  men  stand 
under  rain  when  there  is  no  shelter.  Scarcely  a  lip 
moved.  No  one  seemed  to  hear  the  hymn,  or  to  care 
for  the  music.  How  I  longed  for  the  good  old  Meth 
odist  thunder !  One  good  burst  of  old-fashioned  mu 
sic  would  have  blown  this  modern  singing  out  of  the 
windows  like  wadding  from  a  gun !  Men  may  call 
this  an  improvement,  and  genteel !  Gentility  has 
nearly  killed  our  churches,  and  it  will  kill  Methodist 
churches  if  they  give  way  to  its  false  and  pernicious 
ambition.  We  know  very  well  what  good  old-fash- 


30  EYES  AND  EARS. 

ioned  Methodist  music  was.  It  had  faults  enough, 
doubtless,  against  taste.  But  it  had  an  inward  pur 
pose  and  a  religious  earnestness  which  enabled  it  to 
carry  all  its  faults,  and  to  triumph  in  spite  of  them ! 
It  was  worship.  Yesterday's  music  was  tolerable 
singing,  but  very  poor  worship.  We  are  sorry  that 
just  as  our  churches  are  beginning  to  imitate  the  for 
mer  example  of  Methodist  churches,  and  to  introduce 
melodies  that  the  people  love,  and  to  encourage  uni 
versal  singing  in  the  congregation,  our  Methodist 
brethren  should  pick  up  our  cast-off  formalism  in 
church  music.  It  will  be  worse  with  them  than  with 
us.  It  will  mark  a  greater  length  of  decline.  We 
could  hardly  believe  our  eyes  and  ears  yesterday. 
We  could  not  persuade  ourselves  that  we  stood  before 
a  Methodist  church.  We  should  have  supposed  it  to 
be  a  good  solid  Presbyterian  or  Congregational  church, 
in  which  the  choir  and  pulpit  performed  everything, 
and  the  people  did  nothing. 

Our  brethren  in  this  church  must  not  take  these 
remarks  unkindly.  They  are  presented  in  all  kind 
ness  and  affection.  The  choir  sung  better  than  many 
choirs  in  city  churches,  but  no  one  sung  with  them. 
The  people  were  mute.  They  used  their  ears,  and 
not  their  mouths  !  But  alas  !  we  missed  the  old 
fervor,  —  the  good  old-fashioned  Methodist  fire.  We 
have  seen  the  time  when  one  of  Charles  Wesley's 
hymns,  taking  the  congregation  by  the  hand,  would 
have  led  them  up  to  the  gate  of  heaven.  But  yester 
day  it  only  led  them  up  as  far  as  the  choir,  about  ten 
feet  above  the  pews.  This  will  never  do.  Methodists 
will  make  magnificent  worshipping  Christians  if  they 
are  not  ashamed  of  their  own  ways,  but  very  poor 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   COUNTRY.  31 

ones  if  they  are.  Brethren !  you  are  in  the  wrong 
way.  It  will  never  do  for  you  to  silence  the  people. 
Your  fire  will  go  out  if  you  rake  it  up  under  the 
ashes  of  a  false  refinement.  Let  an  outsider,  but  a 
well-wisher,  say  these  plain  words  to  you  without 
offence.  The  Methodist  Church  has  laid  the  Chris 
tian  world  under  a  great  debt  by  its  service  in  the 
cause  of  Christ,  and  we  have  a  right  in  it,  and  an 
interest  in  it,  as  common  Christians,  too  great  to 
suffer  us  to  see  signs  of  degeneracy  in  it  without 
sorrow  and  alarm.  We  hope  God  means  to  do  great 
things  by  it  yet,  for  our  land.  But  it  will  not  be  by 
giving  up  heart  and  soul,  zeal  and  popular  enthusiasm 
in  worship,  for  the  sake  of  sham  propriety  and  tasteful 
formalism,  that  the  Methodist  Church  will  become  yet 
further  efficient.  We  hope  to  see  such  a  revival  of 
religion  among  them  as  shall  come  like  a  freshet  upon 
their  churches,  and  sweep  out  the  channels  of  song, 
and  carry  away  the  dead  wood  and  trash  which  has 
already  dammed  up  the  current  of  song,  and  made 
the  congregation  stagnant.  O  that  there  may  be  a 
rain  of  righteousness  upon  them,  which  shall  swell 
their  hearts  to  overflowing,  and  cleanse  their  sanctu 
ary  from  all  formalism,  and  especially  from  the  for 
malism  of  pedantic  music ! 

* 


32  EYES   AND   EARS. 


HOURS    OF    EXALTATION. 

Matteawan,  N.  Y.,  August  17,  1857. 

JLTHOUGH  we  have  usually  a  general  and 
common  use  of  all  the  senses,  yet,  in  per 
sons  of  certain  temperaments,  some  single 
sense  has  its  moods  of  predominance,  and 
all  the  others  subside  and  accompany  it,  as  a  low  and 
pleasant  harmony  in  music.  We  have  compared  it  to 
the  habit  of  a  band,  in  which  the  French  horn  seems 
to  rise  at  times  above  all  others,  and  to  float  upon  the 
harmony  like  a  yacht  upon  the  sea ;  then  subsiding, 
the  clarinets  emerge  and  shout  above  all  other  instru 
ments,  but  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  mingling 
again  with  their  companions,  they  send  forth  the 
bugle,  or  other  instrument.  Some  such  change  as 
this  is  going  on  in  every  one  who  carries  all  his  senses 
into  Nature  for  the  enjoyment  of  her  melodies  and 
harmonies. 

Some  days  seem  to  be  characterized  by  some  single 
sense.  There  are  head-days,  heart-days,  there  are 
eye-days  and  ear-days,  and  promiscuous  days  in  which 
delicious  sensations  of  pleasure  at  life  in  general  pre 
dominate.  These  last  are  transcendent.  It  would 
seem  as  if  each  faculty,  every  sense,  and  all  the 
nerves,  had  come  to  an  agreement,  and  were  sensi 
tively  submissive  to  all  the  effects  of  nature  and  soci 
ety.  In  such  transfigurations  it  scarcely  matters 
what  happens.  Nothing  can  be  amiss.  All  sounds, 
all  colors,  all  movements,  all  conditions  of  cloud,  air, 
temperature ;  all  things,  —  grass,  rock,  or  wood,  are 


HOURS   OF   EXALTATION.  33 

not  only  satisfying,  but  blissful.  We  seem  to  hang 
like  a  harp  in  the  air,  and  all  things  reach  forth  to 
touch  the  strings  for  joy.  And  the  sense  of  perfect 
rejoicing  is  so  unconnected  with  any  apparent  cause, 
or  else  so  far  beyond  their  ordinary  effects,  that  the 
mind  is  in  a  gentle  wondering,  all  the  time,  as  to 
what  can  be  the  cause  of  such  satisfaction.  Thus  it 
is  that  consciousness  is  reversed  ;  and  whereas  com 
monly  we  feel  that  happiness  is  an  effect  within  us, 
that  its  seat  is  in  our  own  mind,  upon  these  rare  days 
of  ubiquitous  and  general  gladness  it  seems  as  if  the 
happiness  lay  without  us,  and  we  were  voyagers  sail 
ing  through  it,  and  it  lapped  and  murmured  upon  us 
from  without,  as  waves  and  ripples  do  upon  the  sum 
mer  sides  of  tranquil  ships.  The  air  seems  made  up 
of  happiness,  the  clouds,  the  trees,  the  grass,  the 
pathless  birds,  land  and  water,  —  all  seem  to  pulsate 
happiness,  to  emit  it,  to  breathe  it  forth  upon  us  ;  and 
it  falls  upon  us  as  dew  upon  flowers,  as  serenades  ris 
ing  into  the  moonlit  air  seem  to  rain  down  on  every 
roof  and  every  casement  through  the  whole  town.  It 
is  a  rare  and  gracious  treat  when,  in  these  moods, 
Nature,  like  some  magnificent  Handel,  seems  to  rest 
from  her  graver  labors  and  exercises,  and  to  run  her 
fingers,  in  wild  caprices  of  fancy  and  joy,  over  the 
keys  of  her  organ  ;  exercising  herself  upon  every  stop, 
and  filling  the  whole  air  and  world  with  delights 
innumerable !  We  are  filled  with  the  very  affluence 
of  peacefulness  and  joy.  There  is  neither  sorrow,  nor 
want,  nor  madness,  nor  trouble  in  the  wide  world ! 
The  glory  of  the  Lord,  that  at  other  times  hangs  upon 
the  horizon,  like  embattled  clouds,  —  full,  gorgeous 
with  the  sun,  —  on  such  days  as  we  have  described 

2*  c 


34  EYES   AND  EARS. 

descends  and  fills  the  whole  earth.  The  impassioned 
language  of  the  Psalmist  and  prophets,  which,  r 
other  days,  is  lifted  up  so  high  above  our  imagination 
that  we  can  scarcely  hear  it,  now  comes  down  and 
sounds  all  its  grandeur  in  our  ears.  The  mountains 
praise  the  Lord.  The  trees  clap  their  hands.  The 
clouds  are  his  chariot,  and  bear  him  through  the  air, 
leaving  brightness  and  joy  along  the  path.  The  birds 
know  their  King.  The  flowers  lift  up  their  heads, 
and  with  the  silent  tongue  of  perfume  praise  God 
with  choice  of  odors  !  The  whole  earth  doth  praise 
thee  ! 

In  these  transcendent  moods  each  sense  radiates 
a  glory  upon  whatever  it  perceives.  Sounds  are 
magical.  That  which  we  usually  notice  with  no 
favor  becomes  sweet.  Even  discordant  sounds  are 
smoothed  and  softened.  The  eye  detects  new  lines, 
new  symmetries,  more  beautiful  forms,  and  more  ex 
quisite  colors,  than  it  is  wont  to  do.  The  memories 
that  come  up  from  the  past  bring  joys  even  greater 
for  the  moment  than  the  reality.  Friends  and  friend 
ships  are  glorified.  And  over  against  the  past  stands 
the  future,  full  of  dim  joys  that  hourly  increase. 
These  joys  of  the  past  and  of  the  future  may  be 
likened  to  that  hour,  at  certain  conjunctions  of  the 
sun  and  moon,  when  one  has  just  left  the  horizon, 
but  suffuses  it  yet  with  his  trail  of  light,  while  the 
other,  dim  in  the  east,  is  advancing  every  moment 
with  growing  brightness  to  rule  the  hour! 

But  such  days  have  no  art  to  perpetuate  them 
selves.  To-morrow  will  sweep  you  to  the  opposite 
pole.  Yet  they  are  of  great  use.  They  exalt  an  ideal 
of  life.  Subjects  held  up  in  their  light  will  never  be 


HOURS   OF  EXALTATION.  35 

as  low  and  ignoble  as  they  may  have  been  before. 
'  the  light  in  which  Duty,  Love,  and  Labor  shine 
in  these  lucid  days  will  give  us  exaltation  for  many 
days  after. 

The  roots  of  Nature  are  in  the  human  mind.  The 
life  and  meaning  of  the  outward  world  is  not  in  itself, 
but  in  us.  And  when  we  have  taken  in  all  that  the 
eye  can  gather,  the  ear,  the  hand,  and  the  other 
senses,  we  have  but  the  body  ;  we  do  not  yet  read  and 
know  the  spirit  and  truth,  which  cannot  be  received 
by  the  senses,  but  by  the  soul.  And  Nature  com 
prises  in  herself  all  the  effects  which  she  causes  upon 
the  senses,  and  all  that  she  causes  upon  the  mind.  He 
will  see  the  most  without  who  has  the  'most  within ; 
and  he  who  only  sees  with  his  bodily  organs  sees  but 
the  surface.  He  who  paints  or  describes  with  the 
senses  alone  is  but  a  surface  artist.  This  superficial 
reading  of  Nature  is  as  if  one  had  been  taught,  like 
Milton's  daughters,  to  read  the  Greek  language  flu 
ently  without  understanding  any  part  of  its  mean 
ing.  The  sound  is  sweet,  the  reading  is  fluent.  But 
all  the  life  and  contents  are  wanting.  And  he  that 
reads  Nature  reads  God's  language.  He  only  pro 
nounces  the  words,  without  the  meanings,  who  sees 
the  natural  world  by  iris  senses  only,  and  not  also  by 
his  feelings.  The  bell  from  yonder  steeple  sounds  out 
suddenly  through  the  storm-washed  air.  What  does 
that  sound  mean  ?  To  the  bell,  rattling.  To  the 
mechanical  philosopher  it  means  the  vibration  pro 
duced  upon  the  air.  To  the  watchmaker  it  means 
twelve  o'clock,  —  noon.  To  the  laborer  it  means  rest 
and  food.  To  the  schoolboy  it  means  release  from  a 
living  tomb.  To  the  nurse  it  is  the  hour  for  appointed 


36  EYES  AND  EARS. 

medicine.  To  the  impatient  bridegroom  it  is  the  hour 
of  wedding.  It  is  the  funeral  hour  also,  and  the 
sexton  cracks  his  whip.  It  means  separation  and 
heart-pangs  to  those  aboard  the  cars.  That  bell- 
stroke  means  all  that  it  can  make  a  man  feel  and 
think.  It  bears  back  the  thought  on  its  waves,  and 
strands  us  upon  the  shores  of  childhood.  It  opens 
the  door  of  tears  or  of  smiles,  of  joyful  remembrances 
or  of  sad  ones.  It  reaches  toward  the  feelings.  Those 
pulsations  beat  upon  the  gate  of  Eternity.  Lying 
upon  the  warm  and  fragrant  grass,  flecked  all  over 
with  the  golden-spotted  shadow  of  an  elm,  that  deep, 
solitary,  single  stroke  of  the  bell,  lifted  high  above 
the  ground,  that  does  not  sound  out  one  note  and 
cease,  as  a  trumpet  does,  but  moves  and  warbles ;  that 
pulses  again  and  again,  going  and  coming,  as  if  it 
were  beckoning  and  soliciting  us  to  follow;  —  upon 
that  sound  we  do  ride  bravely  heavenward,  and  in  its 
dying  cadences  hear  a  hundred  voices,  speaking  things 
to  the  feeling  unutterable  in  human  language.  And 
that  single  sound  is  all  that  it  can  do.  It  is  a  cause 
that  includes  in  itself  all  the  effects  it  is  capable  of 
producing. 

Nature,  likewise,  implants  her  spirit  in  the  human 
soul.  Her  shape  is  without  us.  Her  meaning  is 
within  us. 

This  great  mountain  behind  me  is  not  simply  granite 
lifted  up  against  the  eastern  sky,  as  a  bulwark  against 
the  morning  sun,  which  it  hinders  from  my  windows 
a  full  morning  hour.  It  is  a  silent  prophet  of  God, 
that  reveals  both  ways,  past  and  future,  backward 
and  forward ;  and  all  that  I  think  when  I  gaze  upon 
it,  and  all  that  I  feel,  and  all  that  airy  middle-expo- 


HOURS   OF  EXALTATION.  37 

rience  of  deliquescing  thought  resolving  itself  into 
emotion,  tenuous  and  misty ;  and  all  that  it  suggests 
by  association,  —  all  belong  to  it. 

What  a  man  sees  in  Nature  will  therefore  depend 
upon  what  he  has  to  see  with.  Deprived  of  four 
senses,  a  man  would  perceive  only  sounds ;  deprived 
of  but  three  senses,  he  would  perceive  only  sounds 
and  sights.  If  he  have  all  his  physical  senses,  and 
nothing  more,  he  will  see  the  rind  and  husk  of  Nature. 
If  he  bring  reason  along,  he  will  perceive  the  con 
nections  and  homogeneities  of  natural  objects,  their 
relations  to  each  other  and  to  us.  If  he  add  imagi 
nation,  he  will  find  yet  deeper  insight ;  if  feeling, 
deeper  yet ;  if  religious  feeling,  more  profoundly  ; 
and  if  he  hold  all  these  up  against  the  background 
of  the  Infinite,  then  indeed,  to  his  unspeakable  satis 
faction,  the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,  and  the 
firmament  showeth  his  handiwork.  Then  day  unto 
day  uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto  night  showeth 
knowledge. 

In  this  view  is  revealed  the  difference  between  one 
man  and  another  in  the  enjoyment  of  Nature.  One 
man  communes  with  natural  objects  by  many  more 
faculties  than  another.  One  artist  represents  Nature 
seen  with  the  eyes  simply  ;  another,  as  seen  with 
the  soul.  And  though  we  cannot  by  form  and  color 
represent  all  or  the  chief  part  of  that  which  the 
mind  perceives,  yet  what  we  do  picture  will  be  very 
different  if  seen  only  superficially  or  likewise  with 
feeling. 

The  augmentations  of  pleasure  in  this  way  are 
wonderful.  The  least  things  and  the  most  obscure 
become  ministers  of  rare  delight.  The  hands  of  a 


38  EYES  AND  EARS. 

giant  upon  the  keys  of  an  organ  make  no  more  music 
than  the  hands  of  a  common  man,  for  the  sound  is  in 
the  instrument,  not  in  the  hand  that  touches  it.  And 
the  fingers  of  Nature,  touching  the  faculties  of  the 
human  soul,  produce  effects,  not  by  the  magnitude  of 
the  thing  acting,  but  by  the  music  within  the  instru 
ment  touched. 

Nevertheless,  there  is  a  great  difference  between 
one  thing  and  another  in  Nature.  All  things  are 
not  just  alike,  and  the  seeming  difference  of  outward 
things  is  not  altogether  in  us.  It  is  not  to  obliterate 
or  confuse  a  well-known  truth  that  we  write,  but  to 
make  plainer  a  truth  not  so  well  known,  —  that  is,  it 
requires  foresight,  an  object  to  project  its  image,  and 
an  eye  to  receive  it ;  —  so,  on  a  larger  sphere,  an  out 
ward  world  is  required  to  produce  an  effect,  and  an 
inward  nature  to  receive  it ;  and  both  of  these  work 
ing  together  are  required  before  either  of  them  is 
clearly  developed. 

* 


FIRST    SUMMER    LETTER. 

Matteawan,  July  19,  1857. 

HE  summer  has  broken  forth.  The  earth  is 
filled  with  heat,  and  the  whole  heaven  is 
hot !  The  morning  greedily  drinks  up  the 
dew.  The  plump  stems  by  noon  lose  their 
tenseness,  and  wilt  down.  The  afternoon  rides  over 
the  subdued  flowers.  We  all  seek  the  shade,  and 
hold  our  open  necks  to  the  winds,  meanwhile  greatly 


FIRST   SUMMER   LETTER.  39 

admiring  the  insects  on  every  side,  that  grow  more 
nimble  with  every  degree  of  heat.  With  the  ther 
mometer  at  60°,  flies  are  quite  sedate  and  thoughtful ; 
at  75°  they  grow  gay  and  musical ;  but  at  85°  or  90° 
they  become  wild  with  excitement,  and  whirl  and 
dance  through  the  quivering  air  as  if  heat  were  wine 
to  them. 

But  we  have  taken  to  ourselves  the  friendship  of 
mountains,  and  made  league  with  them  against  the 
summer  fervor.  They  lift  up  their  great  orb  as  a 
shield  against  the  morning  sun,  and  when,  turning 
their  flank,  the  sun  comes  down  from  the  south,  they 
breathe  forth  a  cool  wind  from  their  hidden  places, 
and  we  defy  the  heat! 

Every  summer  has  its  own  portrait  and  peculiar 
individualism.  (This  summer  has  brought  around  us 
multitudes  of  birds  beyond  any  former  one.  We  are 
living  in  a  pleasant  old  house,  around  which  fruit- 
trees  have  grown  in  which  birds  have  bred  and  lived 
unmolested  from  year  to  year.  It  is  but  a  dozen 
wing-beats  from  the  house  to  the  mountain  woods. 
Nothing  can  please  a  meditative  bird  better  than  to 
have  domestic  scenes  on  one  side  and  the  seclusion 
of  the  wilderness  on  the  other.  A  bird  loves  a  kind 
of  shy  familiarity.  Here  we  have  a  garden,  a  door- 
yard,  an  orchard,  a  barn,  grouped  together, —  and 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  the  young  forests  of  scooped 
mountain-side.  So  the  birds  come  down  here  for  fun, 
and  go  up  there  for  reflection.  This  is  their  world  ; 
that  is  their  cathedral.  I  notice  that  they  are  fond  of 
congregational  singing ;  not  only,  but«every  one  sings 
his  own  tune,  in  his  own  time,  and  to  his  own  words. 
Nevertheless  their  singing  sounds  well.  They  begin 


40  EYES  AND   EARS. 

when  the  stars  fade  in  the  morning,  and  not  an  hour 
till  star-time  again  do  they  leave  untremulous  with 
music.  The  sweetest  of  them  all  is  the  song-sparrow 
or  song-finch  ;  and  it  is  most  numerous  and  most  con 
stant  in  its  music.  Two  or  three  pairs  seem  to  have 
nests  in  the  yard,  and  apparently  many  neighbors 
come  to  visit  and  have  a  chat  with  them  over  a  social 
worm. 

The  bobolink  has  ceased  his  song.  This  fantastic 
fellow  only  sings  during  his  love  season.  Then  he 
takes  to  the  duties  of  life  with  great  sobriety.  He 
goes  through  his  season,  and  flies  off  to  the  South 
to  become  a  rice-bird.  The  song  of  these  birds  sounds 
to  me  as  if  they  were  trying  to  laugh  and  sing  at 
the  same  time.  Their  song  is  in  snatches,  like  an 
old  harper's  preliminary  touches  before  he  sounds 
forth  the  real  tune  ;  only  they  are  always  preluding, 
and  never  come  to  the  real  subject-matter !  Then 
we  have  goldfinches,  or  "  yellow-birds,"  the  egotis 
tic  "  phebes,"  that  sit  and  call  their  own  name  for 
amusement;  the  pert  and  springy  wren,  barn-swal 
lows  and  martins,  robins,  larks,  and,  at  night,  whippo- 
wills.  Blessed  be  the  whippowill !  that  opens  up  so 
many  volumes  in  the  mind,  and  sets  one  thinking 
backward,  — if,  as  I  did,  one  ever  heard  them  in  their 
youth,  waking  in  the  moonlit  chamber  to  hear  them 
sound  their  notes,  bold  and  plaintive,  upon  the  rock 
that  stood  in  the  edge  of  the  wheat-field  !  From  that 
day  to  this  the  whippowill  has  had  the  luck  to  gather 
about  him  fond  associations.  How  little  he  knows,  as 
he  sings,  unconscious  messenger,  what  he  is  saying 
to  me  ! 

Unnamed  birds  there  are,  1  know  not  how  many. 


SECOND  SUMMER  LETTER.  41 

But  I  have  my  books.  I  shall  find  you  out,  every  one 
of  you,  whose  names  are  there  written  ;  and  if  there 
be  anything  worth  imparting,  our  readers  shall  have 
the  benefit  thereof. 

* 


SECOND    SUMMER    LETTER. 

Matteawan,  July  27,  1857. 

BODY  has  any  business  to  expect  satisfac 
tion  in  a  pure  country  life,  for  two  months, 
unless  he  has  a  decided  genius  for  leisure. 
If  a  man  expects  to  live  in  the  country,  to 
gain  and  spend  his  means  there,  of  course  he  must 
have  something  to  do,  and  do  it  all  the  while.  So,  too, 
those  who  have  a  tramp  on  hand,  —  who  make  a 
pedestrian  tour  or  a  fishing  excursion,  —  must  needs 
stir  about.  Likewise  must  they  have  something  to  do 
who  go  into  the  country  to  see  city  people  in  the 
country.  Such  I  take  to  be  all  loungers  and  visitors 
at  fashionable  country  resorts.  This  lunacy,  however, 
is  modest.  It  pretends  to  nothing  but  what  it  is.  But 
to  gather  up  yourself  and  kindred,  and  sit  down  in 
a  plain  country  house,  without  bears  or  lions  about 
it,  without  anything  to  do  but  to  rest,  with  no  mar 
vels  or  phenomena,  but  only  the  good,  real,  common 
country ;  —  if  you  mean  to  be  happy  in  this,  I  repeat, 
you  should  have  the  element  of  leisure  fully  developed 
in  you.  You  cannot  be  happy  if  you  are  in  a  hurry. 
You  must  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  up  or  to  sit  down. 
You  must  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  up  in  the  morning 


42  EYES  AND  EARS. 

or  to  retire  at  night.  You  must  regard  it  as  quite  the 
same,  whether  you  look  at  a  tree  ten  minutes  or 
thirty.  If  you  walk  out,  never  must  you  look  at  your 
watch ;  go  till  you  return.  If  you  sit  down  upon  a 
breezy  fence  or  wall,  it  should  be  a  matter  of  indiffer 
ence  to  you  whether  it  be  four  o'clock,  or  five,  or  six. 
There  can  be  no  greater  impertinence  than  to  say,  "  It 
is  time  to  go  !  "  There  is  no  such  thing  as  time  to  a 
man  in  a  summer  vacation. 

When  you  come  into  a  new  scene,  you  must  not 
expect  to  be  at  home  in  a  moment.  Nature  may  say 
to  you,  very  kindly,  "  Make  yourself  at  home  "  ;  but 
Nature  says  it  just  as  any  other  sensible  personage 
does,  not  with  the  expectation  that  you  will  do  it,  but 
only  to  show  a  spirit  of  hospitality.  For  it  is  quite 
impossible  that  you  should  be  acquainted  with  scenery 
in  a  moment.  Nature  is  both  frank  and  shy.  Like 
well-bred  people,  she  receives  you  graciously  in  all 
common  intercourse,  but  confidentially  only  after  she 
has  found  you  out,  and  knows  you  to  be  worthy. 
Sudden  intimacies  are  always  shallow.  Wells  quickly 
dug  are  quickly  dry.  We  have  never  been  able  to 
force  matters  in  thus  growing  acquainted  with  new 
scenery.  We  never  can  get  along  but  only  just  so 
fast.  Things  must  begin  to  be  familiar  before  we  feel 
their  full  meaning ;  and  familiarity  conies  not  by  dun 
ning  and  questioning,  not  by  putting  at  things,  as 
a  burglar  would  at  a  lock,  punching  and  screwing, 
but  by  a  natural  and  gradual  opening  of  things  to  us, 
by  a  growing  sensibility  in  us  to  them.  For  there  is 
always  to  be  an  education.  Man  is  forever  a  disciple, 
and  not  a  master,  before  nature.  He  that  knows 
more  than  nature  does  about  beauty  will  get  very 
little  help  from  her. 


SECOND  SUMMER  LETTER.  43 

The  eye  is  a  daguerrotype-plate.  It  is  set  to  re 
ceive  pictures,  not  compose  or  paint  them.  The  art 
of  seeing  well  is  not  to  think  about  seeing.  Let 
your  eye  alone.  Let  it  go  as  clouds  go,  floating 
hither  and  thither  at  their  will.  Things  will  come 
to  you  if  you  are  patient  and  receptive.  No  man 
knows  what  he  sees,  but  only  what  he  has  seen.  One 
looks  at  a  great  many  things,  but  sees  only  a  few ; 
and  those  things  which  come  back  to  him  spontane 
ously,  which  rise  up  as  pictures,  afterwards,  are  the 
things  which  he  really  saw. 

There  is  a  time  for  exact  study,  and  sharp  exami 
nation,  and  all  that ;  but  it  is  not  in  summer  vaca 
tions,  of  which  I  am  speaking,  when  a  man  is  looking 
at  nature  for  no  other  purpose  than  rich,  ripe  enjoy 
ment. 

Yet,  amid  this  tranquil,  dreaming,  gazing  life,  one 
cannot  always  be  quite  as  serene  as  he  would.  For 
example,  this  morning,  while  the  dew  was  yet  on 
the  grass,  word  came  that  "  Charley  had  got  away." 
Now  Charley  is  a  most  important  member  of  the 
family,  and  as  shrewd  a  horse  as  ever  need  be.  Late 
ly  he  had  found  out  the  difference  between  being 
harnessed  by  a  boy  and  a  man.  Accordingly,  on  sev 
eral  occasions,  as  soon  as  the  halter  dropped  from  his 
head,  and  before  the  bridle  could  take  its  place,  he 
proceeded  to  back  boldly  out  of  the  stable,  in  spite 
of  the  stout  boy  pulling  with  all  his  might  at  his 
mane  and  ears.  This  particular  morning,  we  were 
to  put  a  passenger  friend  on  board  the  cars  at  8.10, 
—  it  was  now  7.30.  Out  popped  Charley  from  his 
stall  like  a  cork  from  a  bottle,  and  lo  !  some  fifty 
acres  there  were  in  which  to  exercise  his  legs  and 


44  EYES  AND  EAES. 

ours,  to  say  nothing  of  temper  and  ingenuity.  First, 
the  lady  with  a  measure  of  oats  attempted  to  do  the 
thing  by  bribing  him  genteelly.  Not  he !  He  had  no 
objection  to  the  oats,  none '  to  the  hand,  until  it  came 
near  his  head,  then  off  he  sprang.  After  one  or  two 
trials,  we  dropped  the  oats,  and  went  at  it  in  good 
earnest,  —  called  all  the  boys,  headed  him  off  this 
way,  ran  him  out  of  the  growing  oats,  drove  him 
into  the  upper  lot,  and  out  of  it  again.  We  got  him 
into  a  corner  with  great  pains,  and  he  got  himself 
out  of  it  without  the  least  trouble.  He  would  dash 
through  a  line  of  six  or  eight  whooping  boys,  with 
as  little  resistance  as  if  they  had  been  so  many  mos- 
quitos  !  Down  he  ran  to  the  lower  side  of  the  lot, 
and  down  we  all  walked  after  him.  Up  he  ran  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  lot,  and  up  we  all  walked  after  him, 
—  too  tired  to  run.  0,  it  was  glorious  fun  —  to  him ! 
The  sun  was  hot.  The  cars  were  coming,  and  we 
had  two  miles  to  ride  to  the  depot !  He  did  enjoy  it, 
and  we  did  not.  We  resorted  to  expedients,  —  opened 
wide  the  great  gate  of  the  barnyard,  and  essayed  to 
drive  him  in,  and  we  did  it  too  —  almost ;  for  he  ran 
close  up  to  it,  —  and  just  sailed  past,  with  a  laugh  as 
plain  on  his  face  as  ever  horse  had  !  Man  is  vastly 
superior  to  a  horse  in  many  respects.  But  running, 
on  a  hot  summer  day,  in  a  twenty-acre  lot,  is  not  one 
of  them !  We  got  him  by  the  brook,  and,  while  he 
drank,  0  how  leisurely !  we  started  up  and  succeeded 
in  just  missing  our  grab  at  his  mane  !  Now  comes 
another  splendid  run.  His  head  was  up,  his  eye  flash 
ing,  his  tail  streamed  out  like  a  banner,  and  glancing 
his  head  this  way  and  that,  right  and  left,  he  allowed 
us  to  come  on  to  the  brush  corner ;  from  whence,  in 


SNOW  POWER.  45 

a  few  moments,  he  allowed  us  to  emerge,  and  come 
afoot  after  him  down  to  the  barn  again.  But  luck 
will  not  hold  forever,  even  with  horses.  He  dashed 
down  a  lane,  and  we  had  him !  But  as  soon  as  he 
saw  the  gate  closed,  and  perceived  the  state  of  the 
case,  how  charmingly  he  behaved  ;  allowed  us  to  come 
up  and  bridle  him  without  a  movement  of  resistance, 
and  affirmed  by  his  whole  conduct  that  it  was  the 
merest  sport  in  the  world,  all  this  seeming  disabe- 
dience  ;  and  to  him  we  have  no  doubt  it  was  !  We 
had  but  seventeen  minutes  before  car  time.  But  we 
made  the  best  use  of  it  that  we  could. 

The  very  best  method  of  catching  a  nimble  and 
roguish  horse  in  a  twenty  or  fifty  acre  lot  is  —  not 
to  let  him  get  away  from  you  !  As  to  the  tranquil 
and  leisurely  method  of  examining  nature,  we  shall 
defer  further  remarks  until  we  are  cool. 

* 


SNOW    POWER. 

S  there  anything  in  the  world  so  devoid  of 
all  power  as  a  snow-flake  ?  It  has  no  life. 
It  is  not  organized.  It  is  not  even  a  posi 
tive  thing,  but  is  formed  negatively,  by  the 
withdrawal  of  heat  from  moisture.  It  forms  in 
silence  and  in  the  obscurity  of  the  radiant  ether,  far 
up  above  eyesight  or  hand-reach.  It  starts  earth 
ward  so  thin,  so  filmy  and  unsubstantial,  that  gravita 
tion  itself  seems  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  get  a  hold 
upon  it.  Therefore  it  comes  down  with  a  wavering 


46  EYES  AND  EARS. 

motion,  half  attracted  and  half  let  alone.  We  have 
sat  and  watched  the  fall  of  snow  until  our  head  grew 
dizzy,  for  it  is  a  bewitching  sight  to  persons  specula- 
tively  inclined.  There. is  an  aimless  way  of  riding 
down,  a  simple,  careless,  thoughtless  motion,  that 
leads  you  to  think  that  nothing  can  be  more  noncha 
lant  than  snow.  And  then  it  rests  upon  a  leaf,  or 
alights  upon  the  ground,  with  such  a  dainty  step,  so 
softly,  so  quietly,  that  you  almost  pity  its  virgin  help 
lessness.  If  you  reach  out  your  hand  to  help  it,  your 
very  touch  destroys  it.  It  dies  in  your  palm,  and  de 
parts  as  a  tear.  Thus,  the  ancients  feigned  that  — 
let  me  see,  what  was  it  that  they  feigned  ?  Lot's 
spouse  went  into  salt.  That  was  not  it.  Niobe  to 
stone,  several  into  vegetables,  some  into  deer ;  but 
was  nobody  changed  to  a  fountain  ?  Ah  yes,  it  was 
Arethusa.  But  now  that  we  have  hit  the  thing  that 
dimly  floated  in  our  memory,  it  is  not  a  case  to  the 
point,  so  we  will  let  Arethusa  flow  (slide),  and  return 
to  our  snow. 

If  any  one  should  ask  what  is  the  most  harmless 
and  innocent  thing  on  earth,  he  might  be  answered, 
A  snow-flake.  And  yet,  in  its  own  way  of  exerting 
itself,  it  stands  among  the  foremost  powers  on  earth. 
When  it  fills  the  air,  the  sun  cannot  shine,  the  eye 
becomes  powerless ;  neither  hunter  nor  pilot,  guide 
nor  watchman,  is  any  better  than  a  blind  man.  The 
eagle  and  the  mole  are  on  a  level  of  vision.  All  the 
kings  of  the  earth  could  not  send  forth  an  edict  to 
mankind,  saying,  "  Let  labor  cease."  But  this  white- 
plumed  light-infantry  clears  out  the  fields,  drives  men 
home  from  the  highway,  and  puts  half  a  continent 
under  ban.  It  is  a  despiser  of  old  landmarks,  and 


SNOW  POWER.  47 

very  quietly  unites  all  properties,  covering  up  fences, 
hiding  paths  and  roads,  and  doing  in  one  day  a  work 
which  the  engineers  and  laborers  of  the  whole  earth 
could  not  do  in  years ! 

But  let  the  wind  arise,  (itself  but  the  movement  of 
soft,  invisible  particles  of  air,)  and  how  is  this  peace 
ful  seeming  of  •  snow-flakes  changed  !  In  an  instant 
the  air  raves.  There  is  fury  and  spite  in  the  atmos 
phere.  It  pelts  you,  and  searches  you  out  in  every 
fold  and  seam  of  your  garments.  It  comes  without 
search-warrant  through  each  crack  and  crevice  of 
your  house.  It  pours  over  the  hills,  and  lurks  down 
in  valleys,  or  roads,  or  cuts,  until  in  a  night  it  has 
entrenched  itself  formidably  against  the  most  expert 
human  strength ;  for  now,  lying  in  drifts  huge  and 
wide,  it  bids  defiance  to  engine  and  engineer. 

All  these  thoughts,  and  a  great  many  others,  we 
had  leisure^  spin,  last  night,  while  we  lay  within  two 
miles  of  Morristown,  N.  J.,  beating  away  at  a  half- 
mile  inclined  plane  heaped  with  snow.  We  look  upon 
the  engine  as  the  symbol  of  human  skill  and  power. 
In  its  summer  rush  along  a  dry  track  it  would  seem 
literally  invincible.  It  comes  roaring  up  towards  you, 
it  sweeps  gigantically  past  you,  with  the  wild  scream 
of  its  whistle,  waving  the  bushes  and  rustling  the 
grass  and  flowers  on  either  side,  and  filling  the  «air 
with  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust,  and  you  look  upon 
its  roaring  course  gradually  dying  out  of  sight  and 
hearing  as  if  some  supernatural  development  of  Might 
had  passed  by  you  in  a  vision.  But  now  this  wonder 
ful  thing  is  as  tame  as  a  wounded  bird  ;  all  its  spirit 
is  gone.  No  blow  is  struck.  The  snow  puts  forth 
no  power.  It  simply  lies  still.  That  is  enough.  The 


48  EYES  AND  EARS. 

laboring  engine  groans  and  pushes ;  backs  out,  and 
plunges  in  again  ;  retreats,  and  rushes  again. 

It  becomes  entangled.  The  snow  is  everywhere. 
It  is  before  it  and  behind  it.  It  penetrates  the  whole 
engine,  is  sucked  up  in  the  draft,  whirls  in  sheets 
into  the  engine-room  ;  torments  the  cumbered  wheels, 
clogs  the  joints,  and,  packing  down  under  the  drivers, 
it  fairly  lifts  the  ponderous  engine  off  from  its  feet, 
and  strands  it  across  the  track !  Well  done,  snow ! 
That  was  a  notable  victory !  Thou  mayest  well  con 
sent  now  to  yield  to  scraper  and  snow-plough  ! 

However,  it  was  not  our  engine  that  got  off  the 
track,  but  another  one  beyond  Morristown.  Ours 
could  not  get  off  nor  get  along.  It  could  only  push 
and  stop.  The  pushing  was  a  failure,  the  stopping 
was  very  effectual.  It  kept  us  till  nine  o'clock  before 
we  reached  the  lecture-room.  But  the  audience  had 
waited  with  wonderful  patience  till  we  got  there,  and 
then,  with  a  patience  even  more  exemplary,  till  we 
got  through  —  at  half  past  ten. 

In  the  morning,  returning,  we  gloried  over  the  last 
night's  struggle  ;  and  shot  with  a  comfortable  velocity 
down  the  inclined  plane,  up  which  we  had  vainly  toiled 
in  the  darkness  and  snow  but  so  few  hours  before. 

In  a  few  weeks  another  silent  force  will  come  forth. 
And  a  noiseless  battle  will  ensue,  in  which  this  now 
victorious  army  of  flakes  shall  be  itself  vanquished. 
A  rain-drop  is  stronger  than  a  snow-flake.  One  by 
one  the  armed  drops  will  dissolve  the  crystals  and  let 
forth  the  spirit  imprisoned  in  them.  Descending 
quickly  into  the  earth,  the  drops  shall  search  the  roots, 
and  give  their  breasts  to  their  myriad  mouths.  The 
bud  shall  open  its  eye,  the  leaf  shall  lift  up  its  head, 


* 

THE   MOUNTAIN   FARM   TO   THE   SEA-SIDE   FARM.        49 

the  grass  shall  wave  its  spear,  and  the  forests  hang 
out  their  banners !  How  significant  is  this  silent, 
gradual,  but  irresistible  power  of  rain  and  snow,  of 
moral  truth  in  this  world  !  "  For  as  the  rain  cometh 
down,  and  the  snow  from  heaven,  and  returneth  not 
thither,  but  watereth  the  earth,  and  maketh  it  bring 
forth  and  bud,  that  it  may  give  seed  to  the  sower  and 
bread  to  the  eater ;  so  shall  my  word  be  that  goeth 
forth  out  of  my  mouth :  it  shall  not  return  unto  me 
void,  but  it  shall  accomplish  that  which  I  please,  and 
it  shall  prosper  in  the  thing  whereto  I  sent  it." 

* 


THE  MOUNTAIN  FARM  TO   THE   SEA-SIDE  FARM. 

Lenox,  August  24,  1855. 

Y  DEAR  DOCTOR  "  0."  :  —  Allow  your  friends 
to  congratulate  you  upon  the  acquisition  of 
a  sea- side  farm.  For  although  it  cannot  be 
compared  with  a  mountain  farm,  having  too 
much  sand  and  too  little  loam,  yet  any  farm,  even  a 
sea-side  farm,  is  better  than  none.  Indeed,  it  hath 
advantages,  now  that  I  bethink  me.  The  salt  air  is 
supposed  to  favor  plums,  or  rather  to  be  hostile  to  the 
curculio,  which  is  the  chief  scourge  of  that  excellent 
fruit.  And  then  you  have  your  market  close  at 
hand.  You  can  draw  out  a  breakfast  or  catch  a  din 
ner  at  a  few  moments'  warning.  Should  an  unex 
pected  squad  of  visitors  arrive,  and  the  anxious 
housewife  declare  the  coop  empty,  the  butcher  neg 
lectful,  the  veal  and  lamb  all  gone,  you  have  only  to 


50  EYES  AND   EARS. 

say,  "  Wait  a  moment,  my  dear,  I  know  the  very  rock 
around  which  black-fish  love  to  linger."  In  a  half- 
hour  you  return,  your  basket  heavy  with  yet  flapping 
fish,  eager  to  be  cooked  into  usefulness.  Then,  too, 
you  can  keep  a  boat.  You  are  not  far,  I  presume, 
from  Saybrook.  No,  I  mean  Stonington.  But  that 
Saybrook  Platform  was  running  in  my  head,  and  I  got 
the  wrong  word.  You  knew,  doubtless,  that  Stoning 
ton  was  famous  for  yachting.  You  knew  that  vener 
able  divines  thought  it  not  inconsistent  with  their 
cloth  to  own  a  fast  boat,  and  to  win  the  first  prize  at 
a  regatta.  Why  not  ?  What  is  more  innocent  than 
sailing,  unless  it  be  rowing  ?  No  cruelty  is  enacted  ; 
no  muscles  are  overstrained.  And  what  sight  upon 
earth  is  more  exceedingly  beautiful  than  a  fleet  of 
snowy  yachts,  blown  like  sea-gulls  across  the  swelling 
water  ?  Of  course  you  will  own  a  boat,  even  if  you 
do  not  join  the  club.  You  will  often  choose  to  see 
how  your  bit  of  ground  looks  from  a  liquid  stand 
point.  You  will  often  cool  your  summer  afternoons 
by  the  breezes  off  shore,  and  seek  the  ocean  air  long 
before  it  bears  its  coolness  in  upon  the  land.  It  is 
a  very  noble  thing  to  see  the  sun  go  down  upon  a 
golden  sea,  whose  tremulous  swells  and  fretting  crests 
flash  the  glory  from  wave  to  wave,  and,  breaking  up 
the  broad  sheet  of  red  light  into  myriads  of  sparkles 
and  fiery  circles,  play  with  it,  tossing  it  up  and  down, 
hither  and  thither,  as  if  it  were  a  liquid  floating  on 
the  sea.  Do  you  know  how  to  manage  a  boat  ?  to 
row,  to  scull,  to  set  sail,  to  reef  or  take  in  sail  ?  Pray 
be  careful.  Do  not  carry  too  much  sail.  I  have  long 
been  of  opinion  that  men  and  ships  in  our  day  carry 
too  much  top-hamper.  While  the  wind  is  gentle  you 


THE  MOUNTAIN'  FARM  TO  THE   SEA-SIDE  FARM.       51 

may  spread  everything ;  but  these  crank  hulls  and 
enormous  sails  are  very  tempting  to  capricious  squalls, 
and  some  day,  as  you  sit  with  your  hand  on  the  tiller, 
dreaming  out  a  sermon,  under  which  your  good  peo 
ple  will  perhaps  dream  too,  down  will  come  a  sudden 
swoop,  and  with  one  rattle  and  plunge  you  will  be  all 
overboard !  Never  go  out  without  a  life-preserver 
under  your  arms.  It  is  awkward,  to  be  sure,  to  sit 
trussed  up  with  these  inflated  air-ruffles  under  one's 
arms ;  but  it  will  be  yet  more  awkward  to  flounder 
about  in  the  water  without  them,  especially  if  you 
cannot  swim. 

Shall  you  raise  your  own  oysters  ?  Do  you  intend 
to  dig  your  own  clams?  Have  you  enough  kelp 
growing  about  your  rocks  to  yield  the  needed  manure 
for  your  sandy  soil?  Do  your  exhausted  pastures 
do  better  in  pennyroyal  or  mullein  ?  Do  you  intend 
to  use  white-fish  for  enriching  your  garden  ?  If  so, 
pray  plough  them  in  deep,  or  you  will  be  in  bad  odor 
with  all  your  friends.  People  will  say  you  are  not 
sound ;  that  you  have  a  taint. 

Excuse  these  freedoms.  They  are  fraternal.  I  am 
all  too  glad  that  you  have  a  farm  at  all.  A  sea-side 
farm  will  bring  you  back  toward  both  the  patriarchs 
and  the  apostles,  for  the  one  tilled  the  soil  and  the 
other  fished  the  sea,  and  you  can  do  both.  May  the 
surf  sing  you  to  sleep  with  its  undying  anthems ! 
May  the  storms  that  awaken  your  midnights  with  the 
thunder  of  waves  and  the  rush  of  awful  winds  bring 
no  shriek  to  your  ear  of  shipwrecked  men ;  and  no 
visions  to  your  uneasy  sleep  of  drenched  and  drown 
ing  creatures,  swept  from  the  deck,  and  sinking  to 
the  bottom,  aimlessly  reaching  out  and  clutching  the 


52  EYES  AND  EARS. 

waters.  Kather  may  the  storm  proclaim  to  you  ever 
more  the  majesty  and  might  of  Him  who  rideth  upon 
the  winds,  who  sitteth  King  upon  the  floods! 

And  as  a  ship  is  dandled  on  the  bosom  of  the 
boundless  sea  like  a  child  upon  its  mother's  knee,  and 
is  sheeted  with  the  silver  light  of  morning  or  flooded 
with  the  gold  of  evening,  glistening  all  the  hours 
between  in  the  unbounded  light  that  God  pours  in 
eternal  streams  from  the  heavenly  spheres,  so  may 
you  never  see  such  an  airy  thing,  without  a  sweet  and 
blessed  utterance,  — "  Thus  doth  God  convoy  upon 
the  sea  of  life  those  who  trust  in  him  !  For  no  ship 
there  is  of  human  heart,  caught  in  storm  or  troubled 
sea,  that  hath  not  its  Christ,  ready  to  be  aroused  to 
calm  the  sea  and  hush  the  wind  !  " 

I  forgot  to  ask,  in  the  earnestness  of  my  congratu 
lations,  whether  the  farm  is  yours  ?  Whether  it  is 
paid  for?  I  hope  the  deeds  are  recorded,  without 
mortgage  or  lien  of  any  kind.  I  hope  no  notes  are 
drawing  interest.  No  blister  draws  sharper  than  In 
terest  does.  Of  all  industries,  none  is  comparable  to 
that  of  Interest.  It  works  day  and  night,  in  fair 
weather  and  in  foul.  It  has  no  sound  in  its  footsteps, 
but  travels  fast.  It  gnaws  at  a  man's  substance  with 
invisible  teeth.  It  binds  industry  with  its  film,  as  a 
fly  is  bound  upon  a  spider's  web.  Debt  rolls  a  man 
over  and  over,  binding  him  hand  and  foot,  and  letting 
him  hang  upon  the  fatal  mesh  until  the  long-legged 
interest  devours  him.  There  is  no  crop  that  can 
afford  to  pay  interest  money  on  a  farm.  There  is 
but  one  thing  raised  on  a  farm  like  it,  and  that  is 
the  Canada  thistle,  which  swarms  new  plants  every 
time  you  break  its  root,  whose  blossoms  are  prolific, 


THE  MOUNTAIN  FAKM   TO   THE   SEA-SIDE  FARM.       53 

and  every  flower  father  of  a  million  seeds.  Every 
leaf  is  an  awl,  every  branch  a  spear,  and  every  single 
plant  is  like  a  platoon  of  bayonets,  and  a  field  full  of 
them  is  like  an  armed  host.  The  whole  plant  is  a 
torment  and  a  vegetable  curse.  And  yet  a  farmer 
had  better  make  his  bed  of  Canada  thistles  than  at 
tempt  to  lie  at  ease  upon  interest. 

But  you  do  not  need  these  words.  You  are  a 
shrewd  and  cautious  man.  Every  dollar  is  paid.  I 
only  write  to  show  you  what  amiable  things  I  would 
have  said  had  you  needed  them.  May  no  greedy  land- 
shark  ever  grab  your  land,  or  pluck  it  from  beneath 
your  children's  feet !  There  may  you  rest  for  a  few 
weeks  each  summer,  away  from  the  dust  of  wheels, 
the  dust  of  books,  and  the  dust  of  gold-seeking  men. 
God  says  some  things  to  the  soul  in  the  open  field, 
along  the  sea-shore,  or  in  the  twilight  forests,  which 
he  never  speaks  through  books  or  men.  Thank  God 
for  books !  And  yet  thank  God  that  the  great  realm 
of  truth  lies  yet  outside  of  books,  too  vast  to  be  mas 
tered  by  types  or  imprisoned  in  libraries.  A  book 
that  leads  us  away  from  nature  is  knavish.  Those 
are  true  books  which,  like  glasses,  serve  to  enlarge 
that  which  lies  outside  and  beyond  themselves. 

May  you  walk  upon  your  farm,  when,  silver-haired, 
you  lean  upon  your  staff,  and  see  the  round  sun  rise 
or  set,  day  by  day,  waiting  for  your  own  release  and 
glorified  ascension  !  May  your  children,  in  after-life, 
have  a  rich  and  endless  theme  of  remembrance  in  the 
word  HOME.  For  home  should  be  an  oratorio  of  the 
memory,  singing  to  all  our  after-life  melodies  and  har 
monies  of  old-remembered  joy ! 

I  do  not  mean  a  narrow-faced  house  in  the  city, 


54  EYES  AND  EARS. 

reaching  wearily  toward  the  zenith,  with  perpendic 
ular  stairs,  cruel  and  perilous  to  much-enduring  wo 
men  ;  but  a  real,  substantial  country  home,  where 
they  may  smell  the  earth,  walk  upon  carpets  of  pas 
ture  and  meadow,  that  forever  laugh  at  the  patterns 
of  the  loom !  May  they  hear  great  trees  —  let  them 
be  elm-trees  —  sing  and  pray  all  day  and  night  above 
their  heads !  May  they  grow  in  love  with  crooked 
brooks  winking  at  you  from  silver  pebbles,  with  tufted 
willows  and  tasselled  alders,  with  orchards  and  birds, 
with  all  insects,  with  grasses,  flowers,  rushes,  and 
reeds  !  with  flags  and  the  stately  cat-tail  —  Stop ! 
There  is  a  brilliant  humming-bird  singing  with  his 
wings  at  the  mouths  of  our  honeysuckle  blossoms, 
just  come  for  his  morning  draught.  Beautiful  fel 
low  !  you  are  the  first  at  that  banquet !  None  have 
emptied  the  nectar.  The  cups  are  full  of  un tasted 
sweets.  See !  The  flowers  do  not  even  quiver  as  he 
sounds  their  depths,  so  skilled  is  he  to  hang  poised 
before  them  and  carry  his  long  bill  to  the  very  hidden 
seat  of  honey.  No  table  is  to  be  spread  for  thee,  no 
dishes  cleaned  after  thy  meal,  no  servants  run  to  serve 
thee,  no  chimney  reeks  for  thine  appetite.  There  is 
not  a  fly  or  moth  the  less  for  thy  feeding ;  no  seeds 
are  plucked  out  of  the  feathery  cells.  God  calleth 
thee  by  the  voice  of  flowers,  and  thou  art  served  with 
cups  more  rare  than  ever  Cellini  carved  for  the  Med 
ici.  Up  springs  the  little  winged  jewel,  and,  forsaking 
the  honeysuckle,  he  hangs  right  before  my  window, 
eying  me  with  his  bright  eye,  as  if  pitying  me  for  not 
being  a  humming-bird !  And  surely  I  should  like  to 
have  a  merry  bout  with  you  through  the  air,  glancing 
through  the  trees,  searching  all  odorous  places,  living 


THE   MOUNTAIN  FAKM  TO   THE   SEA-SIDE   FAEM.       55 

upon  flower-digested  dew.  And  yet,  sucking  floral 
nectar  and  wheeling  through  sun-flashes  must  be  but 
an  empty  life  !  Good  for  an  hour,  but  not  for  a  life  ; 
yet  nobler  natures  there  are  that  do  less  than  that  for 
life.  But  perhaps  my  pen  attracts  him.  He  has  a  fit 
of  literature.  Ah,  sir,  if  it  were  Longfellow's,  Bry 
ant's,  or  Tennyson's  pen,  you  might  well  suck  rare 
honey  from  the  quill.  Mine,  I  fear,  would  be  a  little 
acid  and  somewhat  bitter !  He  is  gone.  He  did  not 
fly,  but  flashed  away ! 

Have  you  honeysuckles  and  humming-birds?  Do 
you  find  singing-robins  and  bluebirds  on  the  shore? 
Never  mind,  you  have  sea-gulls  and  kingfishers,  and 
now  and  then,  doubtless,  an  emigrant  crow  calls  out 
to  you  from  the  pine-trees.  Do  you  think  gulls  sing 
as  finely  as  wrens,  greenlets,  or  bobolinks  ? 

What  is  the  particular  grievance  on  your  farm? 
Is  it  nettles  ?  Is  it  mosquitos  ?  What  is  it  ?  Some 
thing  has  stirred  you  up,  or  you  would  not  have  be 
gun  your  epistle  by  attacking  my  dear  little  moun 
tain  farm!  At  first  I  was  stirred  up  to  resent  the 
indignity.  I  fancied  I  could  see  the  maples  laughing  ; 
the  elms  and  beeches  curled  their  leaves  and  lips  at 
the  idea  of  the  scrubby  trees  that  exist,  but  do  not 
grow,  in  the  salt  spray  of  the  sea-side.  The  thick, 
plushy,  succulent  grass,  in  whose  veins,  had  I  a  cow's 
eye,  I  could  doubtless  see  milk  and  butter  flowing, 
the  red-top  and  herdsgrass,  when  they  heard  me  read 
your  opening  lines,  winked  and  ogled  each  other 
with  laughing,  blinking  dew-drops,  in  very  derision  of 
the  poor  wiry  salt-marsh  hay,  which  doubtless  is  so 
salt  that  cows  give  butter  and  cheese  already  salted 
enough.  Shall  such  a  place  be  contemptuous  of  my 


56  EYES  AND  EARS. 

emerald  hill,  which  this  valley  holds  up  upon  her 
bosom  like  a  glistening  jewel  ?  And  so  I  stirred  my 
self  to  reply,  and  sat  me  down  at  the  table,  before  the 
open  window ;  but,  as  I  looked  forth,  the  air  spake 
peace.  The  distant  trees  stood  in  peace.  The  green 
mountains  abode  at  rest.  I  saw  shadows  cast  blackly 
down  upon  them,  and  traverse  their  hollowed  sides 
and  ridged  tops.  But  they  peacefully  bore  the  blot, 
and  let  them  pass  unrebuked  away.  The  shadows 
of  storms  do  not  hurt  the  mountains ;  nor  do  the 
shadows  of  slander  or  untruth  harm  men.  And  so 
I  looked  across  the  sloping  lawn,  and  saw  the  tranquil 
lake,  nursing  in  its  bosom  all  the  fenced  farms  that 
lie  upon  its  thither  side,  and  all  around  the  horizon 
stood  the  silent  mountains ;  and  above  them  all, 
mightily  outstretched,  the  blue  and  gray  dome  of 
sky.  All  thoughts  of  conflict  forsook  me.  Shall  I 
be  turmoiled  in  behalf  of  things  which  will  never  lose 
their  own  peace  ?  They  know  their  strength,  and 
when  storms  rail  they  never  answer  back  again. 
They  know  their  worth  of  beauty,  and  neither  boast 
nor  defend  it.  They  abide  in  stillness. 

But  tell  me,  what  have  you  instead  of  mountains  ? 
All  around  us,  on  every  side,  stand  innumerable  piles, 
tree-clad,  rock-built,  carved  and  scarped  along  their 
slopes  by  ages  of  rain.  Rain  !  whose  soft  architec 
tural  hands  have  power  to  cut  stones  and  chisel  to 
shapes  of  grandeur  the  very  mountains  as  no  artist 
could  ever  do  !  On  their  tops  clouds  love  to  walk  or 
brood.  The  hills  stand  waiting  for  us  in  the  morn 
ing,  with  their  sides  draped  with  mist-lace,  wrought 
in  mighty  convolutions  and  patterns,  such  as  royalty 
could  never  command  from  Mechlin  or  Valenciennes. 


THE   MOUNTAIN   FARM   TO   THE   SEA-SIDE   FARM.       57 

In  a  few  hours  they  are  folded  and  laid  away  in  that 
great  wardrobe  above,  from  which  such  rare  and 
endless  dresses  are  drawn  by  the  subtle  hand  of 
Nature.  In  these  mountains  are  dells  and  gorges, 
caves  and  chasms,  brooks  and  loud-crying  torrents. 
There  are  forests  that  sing  to  themselves  their  grand 
old  songs  night  and  day,  and  none  hears  but  God, 
into  whose  ear  comes,  doubtless,  every  sound  of  earth, 
—  the  murmur  of  leaves  and  the  chanting  of  reeds, 
the  whisper  of  grass-blades,  and  the  very  silence  of 
flowers,  as  well  as  the  voices  of  human  sorrow  and 
thunder  of  the  city  !  And  then  the  afternoon  and 
evening  phantasms  of  the  hills  !  Who  shall  speak 
the  nameless  hues  which  the  atmosphere  spreads  upon 
the  evening  hills  in  mountain  regions  ?  What  fleet 
upon  your  ocean  ever  fills  the  eye  as  do  the  cloud- 
fleets  the  ethereal  ocean  in  these  mountain  regions  ? 
There  go  very  continents,  not  anchored  like  Europe 
or  the  Americas,  but  sailing  quietly  with  all  their 
mountains  and  valleys.  Only  think  of  the  Alps, 
some  fine  morning,  starting  off  upon  a  tour  of  the 
continent !  The  Apennines,  the  Andes,  old  Chimbo- 
razo,  or  the  Himalayas,  out  upon  a  tour  !  Yet  there 
they  are,  as  sure  as  you  have  fancy  in  your  eye, 
parading  the  heavens,  and  sunning  their  fiery  peaks 
above  old  Greylock,  or  flashing  the  afternoon  light 
with  such  dazzling  whiteness  that  the  eye  can  hardly 
look  upon  them ! 

But  I  forgot  that  you  too  have  these  airy  moun 
tains.  The  sweet  ministration  of  a  common  atmos 
phere  is  yours  too.  You  have  my  sun,  my  moon, 
my  stars.  The  morning  which  gems  our  hills,  kin 
dles  the  flaming  bosom  of  your  ocean.  One  noon 

3* 


58  EYES  AND  EARS. 

glows  above  us  both.  The  angel  that  brings  sleep 
to  me  hovers  above  you.  The  same  heaven  lies  be 
yond  this  visible  for  us  both  ;  the  same  Saviour,  and 
the  same  everlasting  rest !  May  no  joy  by  the  way 
or  entanglement  hold  us  ;  and  when  we  look  to 
gether  from  its  walls,  we  shall  not  be  able  to  discern, 
for  their  insignificance,  our  proud  little  farms  !  Yea, 
the  whole  earth  will  have  dwindled,  and  would  have 
gone  out,  were  it  not  for  one  glowing  spot,  —  Calvary. 
For  that  mountain  it  shall  stand  forever,  and,  glowing 
through  all  space,  shine  as  a  mighty  jewel  that  God 
hath  set  as  a  memorial  of  his  everlasting  love  ! 

* 


HAYING. 


T  is  five  o'clock.  The  morning  is  clear  and 
fresh.  A  thin  blue  film  of  mist  hovers 
over  the  circuit  of  the  Housatonic  along 
the  mountain  belt.  A  hundred  birds  — 
yes,  five  hundred  —  are  singing  as  birds  never  sing 
except  in  the  morning.  A  few  chimneys  send  up  a 
slow,  wreathing  column  of  smoke,  which  grows  every 
moment  paler  as  the  new-kindled  fire  below  burns 
brighter.  In  our  house  the  girls  are  astir,  and  the 
mystery  of  breakfast  developing.  The  little  dog  is 
so  glad  after  the  lonesome  night  to  see  you,  that  he 
surfeits  you  with  frolic.  The  men  are  in  the  barn 
feeding  the  horses,  and  getting  everything  ready  for 
work. 

The  clouds  hang  low  on  the  mountains  on  every 


HAYING.  59 

side.  Their  ragged  edges  comb  the  mountain-sides, 
and  look  as  if  they  must  sway  the  trees  in  their 
course.  Yet  they  move  with  such  soft  and  drowsy 
measure,  that  not  a  leaf  stirs  in  their  path.  Will  it 
rain  to-day  ?  The  heavens  overhead  look  like  it.  The 
clouds  around  the  mountains  hang  low,  as  if  there 
were  rain  coming.  But  the  barometer  says,  No. 
Then  a  few  rounds  with  the  scythe  before  breakfast, 
just  by  way  of  getting  the  path  open.  There  they 
go,  a  pretty  pair  of  mowers  !  The  blinking  dew-drops 
on  the  grass-tops  wink  at  them  and  pitch  headlong 
under  the  stroke  of  the  swinging  scythe.  How  low 
and  musical  is  the  sound  of  a  scythe  in  its  passage 
through  a  thick  pile  of  grass  !  It  has  a  craunching, 
mellow,  murmuring  sound,  right  pleasant  to  hear. 
The  grass,  rolled  over  in  a  swath  to  the  left,  green 
and  wet,  lies  like  a  loosely-corded  cable,  vast  and  half 
twined.  Around  the  piece,  step  by  step  go  the  men, 
and  the  work  is  fairly  laid  out  and  begun.  There 
sounds  the  horn !  Breakfast  is  ready.  A  most  use 
ful  and  salutary  custom  is  that  of  breakfast.  One 
may  work  with  the  hands  before  breakfast,  but  not 
much  with  the  head.  The  machine  must  be  wound 
up.  The  blue  must  be  taken  out  of  your  spirits  and 
the  gray  out  of  your  eyes.  A  cup  of  coffee,  —  real 
coffee,  —  home-browned,  home-ground,  home-made, 
that  comes  to  you  dark  as  a  hazel-eye,  but  changes  to 
a  golden  bronze  as  you  temper  it  with  cream  that 
never  cheated,  but  was  real  cream  from  its  birth, 
thick,  tenderly  yellow,  perfectly  sweet,  neither  lumpy 
nor  frothing  on  the  Java :  such  a  cup  of  coffee  is  a 
match  for  twenty  blue  devils,  and  will  exorcise  them 
all.  Involuntarily  one  draws  in  his  breath  by  the 


60  EYES  AND  EARS. 

nostrils.  The  fragrant  savor  fills  his  senses  with 
pleasure  ;  for  no  coffee  can  be  good  in  the  mouth  that 
does  not  first  send  a  sweet  offering  of  odor  to  the 
nostrils.  All  the  children  are  farmer's  boys  for  the 
occasion.  Were  Sevastopol  built  of  bread  and  cakes, 
these  are  the  very  engineers  who  would  take  it. 
Bless  their  appetites  !  It  does  one  good  to  see  grow 
ing  children  eat  with  a  real  hearty  appetite.  Moun 
tain  air,  a  free  foot  in  grassy  fields  and  open  groves, 
plain  food  and  enough  of  it,  —  these  things  kill  the 
lilies  in  the  cheek  and  bring  forth  roses. 

But  we  must  make  haste,  and  make  hay  while  the 
sun  shines.  Already  John  Dargan  is  there  whetting 
his  scythe.  John,  tough  as  a  knot,  strong  as  steel, 
famous  in  all  the  region  for  ploughing,  and  equally 
skilful  at  mowing,  turning  his  furrow  and  cutting 
his  swath  alike  smoothly  and  evenly.  If  Ireland  has 
any  more  such  farmers  to  spare,  they  may  come  on 
in  spite  of  all  the  Know-Nothings.  The  Man  of 
the  Farm  strikes  in  first,  as  being  the  head  man  in 
this  dominion,  and  John  follows,  and  away  they  go 
right  through  the  clover  and  herdsgrass,  up  the  hill, 
toward  the  sun.  The  grass  is  full  of  dew,  which 
quivers  in  the  sunlight,  and  winks  and  flashes  by 
turns  all  the  colors  of  a  rainbow.  We  follow  after,  as 
one  that  limps,  having  never  attained  the  art  of  mow 
ing  ;  and  being  a  late  apprentice  and  mere  learner, 
we  prefer  to  let  our  betters  go  first.  One  swath  will 
satisfy  our  zeal,  and  we  shall  then  fall  into  the  ranks 
of  the  spectators.  Round  and  round  the  field  they 
go,  with  steady  swing,  the  grass  plat  growing  less  at 
every  turn. 

What  a  miniature  forest  is  this  tall  grass  full  of 


HAYING.  61 

under-brush  clover  !  How  full  of  population  !  Vast 
communities  dwell  here  of  which  we  have  but  little 
knowledge,  and  for  which  we  have  but  little  sym 
pathy.  All  manner  of  grasshoppers,  field-crickets, 
bugs  of  every  shape  and  color,  worms,  birds,  young 
and  old,  and  nameless  life,  swarm  through  these 
grassy  forests,  past  all  counting.  One  imagines  the 
sudden  surprise  with  which  the  crash  of  the  scythe 
overthrows  all  their  structures,  obliterates  their  paths, 
destroys  their  haunts  and  societies,  and  buries  thou 
sands  of  them  under  each  swath  of  grass.  All  the 
bright  webs  of  spiders  that  sit  up  late  at  nights,  the 
virgin  webs  that  have  as  yet  caught  nothing  but  dew, 
and  have  caught  a  whole  lapful  of  that,  are  swept  in 
one  stroke.  A  mower  will,  in  half  a  day,  disarrange 
the  plans  of  myriads  of  his  fellow-creatures,  walk 
ing  a  conqueror  through  their  desolated  cities  and 
dwellings,  without  once  thinking,  even,  that  he  has 
wrought  his  task  amid  such  multitudinous  company. 
We,  following  on,  turn  over  the  grass,  and  watch  the 
liberated  captives,  that  take  their  disasters  very  pa 
tiently.  Spiders  forget  to  be  voracious.  Insects  run 
over  spiders  without  fear.  All  herd  together  in  peace, 
made  by  a  common  misfortune.  So  we  have  read 
that  bears,  wolves,  panthers,  deer,  rabbits,  and.  foxes 
are  sometimes  pent  up  on  some  high  ground,  islanded 
by  a  sudden  freshet,  and  forget  their  destructive 
habits,  and  live  together  peacefully  until  the  receding 
waters  let  them  forth  again. 

While  we  are  musing  upon  the  fate  of  bugs,  a 
shout  from  the  boys  informs  us  that  the  mowers  have 
disclosed  a  meadow-lark's  nest.  Sure  enough,  there 
goes  the  gibbering  bird  over  into  the  next  field,  to 


62  EYES  AND  EARS. 

complain  and  mourn  over  her  most  unexpected  loss. 
Five  speckled  eggs  are  not  so  easily  laid  as  to  be  given 
up  without  a  thought !  How  many  fond  hopes  are  here 
crushed  by  one  swing  of  Time's  scythe,  —  or  John's 
scythe  it  was,  I  believe  !  They  are  warm  and  smooth. 
How  good  they  felt  to  the  warm-breasted  mother ! 
Here  she  sat  mute,  reflecting  upon  the  joyful  times 
when  she  should  inform  her  mate  that  the  shells  were 
broken,  and  both  of  them  should  bring  a  dilapidated 
worm  to  the  ugly-looking  mouths  of  their  callow 
young !  But  when  did  a  child  ever  look  ugly  to  its 
mother !  And  larks  doubtless  think  their  featherless, 
discolored,  yellow-mantled  squabs  more  beautiful  than 
full-grown  humming-birds.  And  now  the  bereaved 
mother  is  flying  upon  the  fence,  and  thence  to  the  top 
of  a  near  bush,  to  see  the  issue.  We  carefully  put  up 
sticks  about  the  nest,  and  took  oaths  of  humanity 
from  all  the  boys,  and  caused  horse-rakes  and  cart 
wheels  to  respect  the  nest.  But  when  the  grass  was 
cleared  from  the  field,  and  the  nest  was  left  wide  open 
to  the  sun,  without  shade  or  protection,  the  owners 
held  a  council  over  matters,  and  resolved  to  abandon 
the  desecrated  nest,  set  the  eggs  down  to  profit  and 
loss,  emigrate  to  another  meadow,  and  begin  life 
again!  After  two  days'  waiting,  some  of 'the  kind 
friends,  without  our  knowledge,  removed  the  desolate 
nest  and  placed  it  upon  our  writing-table,  and  there  it 
now  lies  before  us,  with  a  vine  of  green  leaves  and  a 
few  spikes  of  yellow  sweet-clover  twined  about  it. 
Poor  eggs !  No  lark  shall  ye  ever  be  !  Ye  shall  not 
shake  dew  from  the  grass,  nor  pick  worms  from  the 
earth,  nor  sing  a  mournful  minor  song,  as  I  hear  your 
kindred  now  doing  from  out  of  the  field  before  my 
window. 


HAYING.  63 

Meanwhile  all  the  boys  have  been  at  work  spread 
ing  the  grass.  The  hay-cocks  of  yesterday  have  been 
opened.  The  noon  comes  on.  It  is  time  to  house  it. 
It  is  brave  work  to  see  men  pitching  and  loading  hay. 
We  lie  down  under  the  apple-trees  and  exhort  them 
all  to  diligence.  We  are  surprised  at  any  pauses  to 
wipe  the  perspiration  from  their  brows.  We  are  very 
cool.  We  think  haying  a  beautiful  sport.  We  ad 
mire  to  see  it  going  on  from  our  window  !  We  resist 
all  overtures  of  the  scythe  and  the  fork,  for  we  think 
one  engaged  in  the  midst  of  it  less  favorably  situated 
to  make  calm  and  accurate  observations. 

The  day  passes  and  the  night.  With  another  morn 
ing,  and  that  Saturday  morning,  comes  up  the  sun 
without  a  single  cloud  to  wipe  his  face  upon.  The 
air  is  clear  and  crystal.  No  mist  on  the  river.  No 
fleece  upon  the  mountains.  Yet  the  barometer  is 
sinking, — has  been  sinking  all  night.  It  has  fallen 
more  than  a  quarter  of  an  inch,  and  continues  slowly 
to  fall.  Our  plans  must  be  laid  accordingly.  }We 
will  cut  the  clover  which  is  to  be  cured  in  the  cock, 
and  prepare  to  get  in  all  of  yesterday's  mowing  be 
fore  two  o'clock.  Not  till  about  ten  o'clock  is  any 
change  seen.  Then  the  sunlight  seems  pale,  though 
no  cloud  is  before  it.  Some  invisible  vapor  has  struck 
through  the  atmosphere.  By  and  by  clouds  begin  to 
form,  —  loose,  vast,  cumbrous,  that  slowly  roll  and 
change  their  unwieldy  shapes,  and  take  on  every 
shade  of  color  that  lies  between  the  darkest  leaden 
gray  and  the  most  brilliant  silver  gray.  One  load  we 
roll  in  before  dinner.  While  catching  our  hasty  meal 
aifairs  grow  critical.  The  sun  is  hidden.  The  noon 
is  dark.  All  hands  are  summoned.  Now  if  you  wish 


64  EYES  AND  EARS. 

to  see  pretty  working,  follow  the  cart,  and  see  long 
forks  leap  into  the  cocks  of  hay,  and  to  a  backward 
lift  they  spring  up,  poise  a  moment  in  the  air,  shoot 
forward,  and  are  caught  upon  the  load  by  the  nimble 
John,  and  in  a  twinkling  are  in  their  place.  We 
hear  thunder  !  Lightnings  flash  on  the  horizon.  Jim 
and  Frank  and  Henry  Sumner  are  springing  at  the 
clover,  rolling  it  into  heaps  and  dressing  it  down  so  as 
to  shed  rain.  There  are  no  lazy-bones  there  ! 

On  the  other  side  of  the  road  there  is  a  small 
piece  of  this  morning's  cut  grass  lying  spread.  Even 
we  ourselves  wake  up  and  go  to  work.  All  the  girls 
and  ladies  come  forth  to  the  fray.  Delicate  hands  are 
making  lively  work,  raking  up  the  dispersed  grass, 
and  flying  with  right  nimble  steps  here  and  there, 
bent  upon  cheating  the  rain  of  its  expected  prey. 
And  now  the  long  winrows  are  formed.  The  last 
load  of  hay  from  the  other  fields  has  just  rolled  tri 
umphantly  into  the  barn !  Down  jumps  John,  with 
fork  in  hand,  and  rolls  up  the  winrows  into  cocks. 
We  follow  and  glean  with  the  rake.  The  last  one 
is  fashioned.  A  drop  pats  down  on  my  face.  Anoth 
er,  and  another.  Look  at  those  baseless  mountains 
that  tower  in  the  west,  black  as  ink  at  the  bottom, 
glowing  like  snow  at  the  top  edges !  What  gigantic 
evolutions  !  They  open,  unfold,  change  form,  flash 
lightnings  through  their  spaces,  close  up  their  black 
gulfs,  and  move  on  with  irresistible  but  silent  march 
through  the  heated  air.  Far  in  the  north  the  rain 
has  begun  to  sheet  down  upon  old  Greylock !  But 
the  sun  is  shining  through  the  shower,  and  changing 
it  to  a  golden  atmosphere,  in  which  the  mountain 
lifts  up  its  head  like  a  glorified  martyr  amid  his  per- 


MOWING-MACHINES  AND   STEAM-PLOUGHS.  65 

seditions !  Only  a  look  can  we  spare,  and  all  of  us 
run  for  the  house,  and  in  good  time.  Down  comes 
the  flood,  and  every  drop  is  musical.  We  pity  the 
neighbors  who,  not  warned  by  barometer,  are  racing 
and  chasing  to  secure  their  outlying  crop. 


MOWING-MACHINES  AND   STEAM-PLOUGHS. 

Lenox,  August,  1855. 

UR  friend  A.  B.  Allen  (and  who  that  works 
or  dabbles  in  the  soil  does  not  know  him 
and  his  agricultural  establishments)  has 
written  to  us  that,  if  our  grass  is  still  stand 
ing,  he  will,  at  his  own  expense,  send  up  one  of  his 
new  mowing-machines,  and  give  us  a  day's  work  with 
it,  for  he  thinks  that  it  is  the  best  machine  yet  out. 
Alas !  our  grass  is  all  cut,  except  a  small  strip  near 
the  White  Violet  Grove,  a  gore  in  the  swale  on  the 
west  side  of  the  hill,  and  some  coarse  stuff,  for  litter, 
down  in  the  muck  swamp.  To  be  sure,  this  could  be 
cut  by  a  mowing-machine,  especially  one  of  which 
our  friend  says,  "It  is  impossible,  I  think,  now  to 
clog  the  knives  even  in  the  wettest,  greenest,  shortest, 
thickest,  finest  grass !  "  But  all  the  grass  left  stand 
ing  would  not  be  a  mouthful  for  such  an  iron  fellow, 
and  yet  why  not  send  the  machine  up  ?  Let  it  remain 
here  !  We  shall  have  a  large  second  crop  on  that 
part  of  the  farm  which  has  been  deeply  ploughed  and 
dressed  with  muck.  This  slaty  loam  seems  to  love 
muck  dearly,  and  holds  out  its  grassy  hands  in  grati- 


66  EYES  AND  EARS. 

tude  for  any  particle  given  to  it.  And  then,  too,  next 
summer  we  shall  be  ready  for  the  mower.  Do  not 
hesitate,  friend  Allen,  we  will  take  good  care  of  the 
machine,  and  if  it  performs  half  as  well  as  you  affirm, 
and  as  we  believe  that  it  will,  we  will  give  the  world 
the  account  of  its  doings  in  the  best  English  which  we 
can  command.  When  shall  we  look  for  it  ? 

But  if  Allen's  Mower  had  taken  a  notion  about  the 
time  we  did  to  come  to  Lenox,  what  a  world  of  work 
would  have  been  spared  to  human  muscles  !  Here 
are  thirty-five  or  forty  acres  of  grass,  over  which,  in 
half-circles,  advancing  four  or  five  inches  at  a  clip, 
the  men  have  crept,  shuffling  along  with  their  feet, 
crouched  and  sweating,  hot,  and  tired  in  the  small 
of  the  back.  Two  men  will  mow,  say  four  acres  a  day, 
besides  looking  after  that  which  was  cut  yesterday. 
Here  are  ten  days  of  work.  But  throwing  out  the 
Sabbaths  and  throwing  in  the  rainy  days  (which  this 
year  have  striven  to  wipe  out  the  memory  of  every 
day  of  last  summer's  drought),  and  there  will  be  at 
least  ten  days  more,  or  full  three  weeks  of  haying; 
i.  e.  mowing,  watching  the  barometer  (that  is  my 
part  of  the  work),  dodging  showers,  or  nesting  in  the 
dry  hay,  with  the  showery  west  qomiiig  down  upon 
us  with  black  banners  flying  and  thunder-trumpets 
sounding.  However,  these  occasional  matches  be 
tween  the  storm  and  the  farmer's  whole  family  are 
not  the  least  interesting  and  exciting  of  country  sports. 
There  is  no  game  of  ball  like  it,  no  rowing-matcli  can 
be  compared  to  it.  As  for  a  horse-race,  it  is  a  mere 
piece  of  vulgar  cruelty  in  comparison. 

The  farmer,  you  see,  would  n't  believe  the  barom 
eter,  and  wanted  yesterday's  mowing  to  get  a  few 


MOWING-MACHINES  AND   STEAM-PLOUGHS.  67 

hours  more  sun  before  housing.  About  three  o'clock 
he  did  not  like  the  looks  of  things  in  the  west.  Away 
went  the  boys  after  the  brown  horses,  Major  and 
Larry.  Old  Gray  was  put  before  the  horse-rake,  and 
Frank  was  told  to  put  in  his  best  kicks  to  hurry  long- 
legged  Gray  over  the  field.  About  four  o'clock  we 
came  forth  to  see  what  all  this  meant.  What  a  bother 
was  here  !  Maria  and  Ann  and  Nelly  all  with  rakes, 
—  the  sister,  wives,  the  daughter,  and  the  daughters 
big  and  little,  were  flying  about ;  the  little  boys  and 
middling-sized  boys,  —  in  all,  four ;  spry  Jim  and 
nimble  John  and  the  farmer,  and  last  of  all,  and  quite 
undisturbed  by  any  fear  of  losing  hay,  we  ourself,  — 
in  all  sixteen  human  creatures,  raking,  rolling,  piling 
up,  pitching  up,  loading,  and  trimming  down  the 
precious  fodder. 

The  rain  made  haste,  and  so  did  we !  We  saw  it 
coming  down,  with  the  sun  straining  through  it,  far  in 
the  northwest.  In  a  few  moments  it  had  covered  in 
several  hills  more.  It  advanced  rapidly  from  swell  to 
swell  and  from  peak  to  peak.  The  sunlight  went  out, 
gray  haze  ran  skirmishing  forward  before  the  black 
heavy  artillery.  Now  the  mountains  west  of  Lenox, 
Baldhead  and  all,  stood  up  solemn  as  death,  and  as 
dark  as  night,  right  against  the  leaden  grayness  of  the 
rain-cloud.  In  a  moment  their  tops  were  caught  and 
wrapped  round  with  rain.  The  mountains  are  gone 
out.  Now  the  sheeted  rain  makes  at  the  church-hill, 
and  the  white  belfry  disappears ;  it  comes  skipping 
from  point  to  point  hitherward.  Nothing  can  turn  it 
from  its  path ! 

Work,  boys,  work  !  We  felt  a  drop  on  our  face, 
and  another  on  our  hand.  A  breath  of  wind  gives  a 


08  EYES  AND  EARS. 

wild  puff  and  dies  away  and  is  still.  We  can  hear  the 
roar  of  the  rain  as  it  comes  through  the  wood  yonder ! 
The  birds  are  all  silent  there.  A  single  melancholy 
whistle  is  heard  from  the  north  beyond  us.  The  last 
forkful  has  gone  up  on  the  load,  and  away  goes  the 
creaking,  overloaded  wagon,  a  man  on  each  side  hold 
ing  up  the  towering,  swaying  mass  with  propping 
forks.  It  rises  on  the  barn  doorway,  it  hesitates,  it 
touches,  it  grazes  at  the  top,  down  sinks  John  to  save 
his  head  a  thump,  but  bawls  out  smotheringly  from 
the  hay  at  the  horses,  who  jump  and  slip  but  spring 
again  and  buckle  to  with  all  their  force  for  a  last 
pull !  Up  comes  the  load,  it  rolls  in,  and  the  howling 
rain  comes  pouring  down  on  the  roof,  but  a  little  too 
late !  In  that  race  we  think  the  farmer  had  slightly 
the  advantage ! 

Let  us  see  ;  how  did  we  get  to  this  spot  ?  Ah,  we 
started  with  a  mowing-machine.  Well,  we  wanted  to 
say,  that  if,  instead  of  these  slow  but  peaceful  scythes, 
we  had  had  one  of  these  mowers  with  iron  sinews, 
that  is  never  hurt  or  tired  or  sweaty,  but  rolls  quietly 
along  over  twelve  acres  a  day,  and  then  tucks  up  its 
knives  at  night  as  if  it  had  been  out  walking  for  a 
little  sport  in  the  grass,  how  much  time  would  have 
been  gained,  how  much  struggle  saved,  how  easily  on 
the  few  fair  days  —  fair,  but  hot  —  might  we  have 
cut  and  cured  the  whole  crop  without  being  chased 
out  of  the  field  by  storms. 

In  that  case  we  should  have  had  our  barley  all 
harvested  before  this.  Now  it  is  crinkled,  and  will 
require  twice  the  labor  to  secure  it.  Our  wheat  too 
—  spring  wheat  (not  the  club-wheat,  bought  of  Allen 
&  Co.,  but  the  Mediterranean  or  Black-Sea  wheat, — 


MOWING-MACHINES  AND   STEAM-PLOUGHS.  69 

Crimea  wheat,  for-  aught  that  we  know)  —  would 
have  been  attended  to  before  this.  Now  it  is  all 
down.  Maybe  it  is  sprouted.  Perhaps  it  will  mil 
dew,  or  it  may  rust. 

The  midge  may  get  into  it,  the  fly  will  attack  it,  — 
not  our  harmless  house-fly,  a  native,  every  drop  of 
whose  blood  is  American,  —  but  that  hateful  foreign 
fly,  which  the  British  brought  over  with  their  mer 
cenary  Hessians.  We  could  whip  the  British  and  the 
Hessians,  but  not  the  Hessian  fly.  That  could  never 
be  brought  to  sign  articles  of  peace.  As  we  were 
saying,  the  midge,  the  fly,  the  weevil,  the  rust,  the 
blight,  the  sprout, —  in  short,  all  the  desperate  mal 
adies  which  attack  newspapers  about  the  time  of 
wheat-harvest,  —  may  be  impending  over  our  wheat 
(two  acres  and  a  half  there  are  of  it),  because,  for 
the  want  of  a  mowing-machine,  the  grass  obliged  us 
to  neglect  the  wheat !  But  there  is  some  consolation 
on  a  farm  for  everything.  If  it  is  bad  hay  weather, 
it  is  good  potato  weather.  If  it  is  too  hot  and  dry 
for  pastures,  it  is  just  right  for  corn.  The  same  rain 
that  vexes  our  first  mowing  is  bringing  on  the  sec 
ond  growth,  or  rowen. 

We  are  accustomed  to  regard  the  improvements  in 
machinery  chiefly  in  their  relations  to  manufacturing 
and  locomotion.  But  nowhere  else  will  a  greater 
change  be  wrought  by  machinery  than  upon  the  farm. 
We  are  in  the  infancy  of  agriculture. 

The  knowledge  of  the  elements  with  which  we 
deal,  and  which  compose  rocks,  soils,  plants,  and 
animal  fibre,  that  organic  chemistry  puts  into  our 
hands,  gives  direction  and  accuracy  to  our  processes, 
but  does  little  to  abridge  manual  labor.  Mechanics 


70  EYES  AND  EAES. 

step  in  at  this  point,  and  promise  to  set  men  free, 
and  to  make  a  servant  of  iron  that  will  toil  for  him 
without  fatigue,  and  with  quadruple  speed. 

Great  as  is  the  saving  of  labor  achieved  by  reapers, 
mowers,  threshers,  etc.,  they  are  all  as  nothing  in 
comparison  with  that  which  must  come  before  long,  — 
THE  STEAM-PLOUGH  !  What  a  revolution  would  take 
place,  when  a  gang  of  five  or  six  ploughs,  cutting  from 
fifteen  to  twenty-four  inches  deep,  shall  plow  from 
thirteen  to  fifteen  acres  a  day !  A  farm  of  twenty 
acres  will  then  be  equivalent  to  a  hundred  acres  now. 
A  hundred  acres  so  cultivated  will  yield  unexampled 
crops.  It  will  be  better  for  small  farmers  than  it 
would  be  to  make  every  man  a  present  of  four  times 
as  much  land  as  he  had  before. 

Then,  too,  large  farming  could  be  carried  on  with 
out  the  drawbacks  which  now  hinder  it.  A  thousand 
acres  ploughed,  tilled,  and  reaped  by  machinery  could 
be  handled  as  easily  by  the  proprietor  as  now  he 
handles  a  hundred  acres. 

As  yet  we  have  only  scratched  the  surface  of  the 
earth.  We  have  never  fairly  harnessed  mechanics, 
or  made  a  farmer  of  science. 

The  man  who  invents  a  steam-plough,  that  will  turn 
twelve  or  fifteen  acres  a  day,  two  feet  deep,  will  be  an 
emancipator  and  civilizer. 

Then  labor  shall  have  leisure  for  culture.  Thus 
working  and  studying  shall  go  hand  in  hand.  Then 
the  farmer  shall  no  longer  be  a  drudge  ;  and  work 
shall  not  exact  much,  and  give  but  little.  Then  men 
will  receive  a  collegiate  education  to  fit  them  for  the 
farm,  as  now  they  do  for  the  pulpit  and  the  forum, 
and  in  the  intervals  of  labor,  gratefully  frequent, 


CITY   BOYS   IN   THE   COUNTRY.  71 

they  may  pursue  their  studies ;  especially  will  books 
be  no  longer  the  product  of  cities,  but  come  fresh  and 
glowing  from  Nature,  from  unlopped  men,  whose  side- 
branches,  having  had  room  to  grow,  give  the  full  and 
noble  proportions  of  manhood  from  top  to  bottom. 
God  speed  the  plough ! 

vv 

P.  S.  A  critic,  near  at  hand,  thinks  the  storm  in 
this  letter  very  much  like  the  one  in  the  last.  It  is 
not  the  same  storm,  but  another  just  like  it.  Nature 
has  not  been  afraid  of  repeating  her  storms  every 
day ;  and  surely  we  should  not  be  blamed  for  doing 
our  storms  once  a  week. 


CITY    BOYS   IN    THE    COUNTRY. 

Mountain  Eest,  Matteawan,  September  1,  1857. 

HIS  is  the  first  day  of  autumn.  Summer  is 
gone  ;  gone  how  swiftly  and  unperceivedly  ! 
It  has  seemed  to  me  like  a  green  leaf  float 
ing  upon  a  silent  river.  It  came  quietly 
toward  me  from  above,  then  moved  past  in  a  shadowy 
and  spectre-like  way,  and  now  has  floated  down  and 
gone  past  the  bend  in  the  river,  and  I  shall  see  the 
summer  leaf  no  more.  In  like  manner,  the  gold 
leaf  of  autumn  has  been  glistening  in  the  distance, 
and  drawing  daily  nearer.  It  too,  in  turn,  will  glow 
and  shine  upon  the  spotted  stream  of  time  and  go 
past.  Then  comes  winter.  It  hath  no  leaves  to  give. 
It  offers  frost  particles  and  flakes  of  snow  instead. 


72  EYES  AND  EARS. 

To-day  is  a  goblet-day.  The  whole  heavens  have  been 
mingled  with  exquisite  skill  to  a  delicious  flavor, 
and  the  crystal  cup  put  to  every  lip.  Breathing  is 
like  ethereal  drinking.  It  is  a  luxury  simply  to 
exist.  The  whole  air  is  full  of  inarticulate  music. 
Birds  have  given  way  to  the  autumnal  choir.  Crick 
ets,  locusts,  and  katydids  are  chirping  and  harping 
away  at  the  most  astonishing  rate. 

When  birds  sing  they  never  fill  the  air.  They  sing 
in  multiplied  voices,  and  yet  there  is  always  seeming 
room  for  more.  But  katydids  and  crickets  surfeit 
the  air.  They  are  "mixture-stops"  of  not  four  or  five 
sounds,  but  forty.  Unlike  birds'  singing,  there  is  no 
individualization.  It  is  a  vast  body  of  sound.  Some 
times  one  imagines  them  as  jolly  fiddlers  at  a  revel ; 
and  we  can  see  them  lying  back  and  fiddling  with 
the  most  enjoying  relish.  At  other  times,  they  re 
mind  you  of  an  orchestra  in  the  anteroom  chording 
their  instruments.  They  seem  to  twang  and  thumb, 
to  scrape  and  draw,  without  ever  coming  to  concert- 
pitch  or  getting  ready  for  the  overture.  Then,  again, 
one  fancies  that  they  are  fairies  chattering  in  the 
grassland  imagines  as  best  he  can  what  cricket  mirth 
must  be ;  what  grasshopper  rivalries  amount  to ; 
what  locust  passions  and  sentiments  are.  It  would 
be  curious  to  look  at  life  from  their  point  of  view. 
Their  notions  of  man  would  be  a  chapter  in  mental 
philosophy  full  as  wise  and  profitable  as  the  most  of 
those  which  have  amused  sober  sects,  and  fooled  them 
into  philosophy. 

Probably  there  are  dandy  grasshoppers,  which  strut 
about  in  the  grass,  exhibiting  their  graceful  legs ; 
athletes,  proud  of  the  prodigious  muscle  of  their 


CITY  BOYS  IN   THE   COUNTRY.  73 

thighs ;  amorous  locusts,  that  execute  all  fantastic 
observances  fitted  to  their  state.  Are  there  not 
castes  and  ranks,  and  distinctions  of  society,  in  the 
grass  as  well  as  above  it  ?  Shining  crickets,  jet,  hand 
some,  —  these  are  doubtless  despising  the  rusty  ash- 
colored  fellow,  who  knows  no  better  than  to  wear  the 
jacket  which  Nature  made  for  him.  But  we  sat 
down  to  write  upon  something  besides  these  stridulous 
gentlemen  of  the  grass  orchestra;  something  quite 
as  noisy  in  their  way,  but  of  a  good  deal  more  inter 
est.  We  mean  Boys  ! 

A  boy  is  a  piece  of  existence  quite  separate  from 
all  things  else,  and  deserves  separate  chapters  in  the 
natural  history  of  man.  The  real  lives  of  boys  are 
yet  to  be  written.  The  lives  of  pious  and  good  boys, 
which  enrich  the  catalogues  of  great  publishing  so 
cieties,  resemble  a  real  boy's  life  about  as  much  as 
a  chicken  picked  and  larded,  upon  a  spit,  and  ready 
for  delicious  eating,  resembles  a  free  fowl  in  the  fields. 
With  some  few  honorable  exceptions,  they  are  impos 
sible  boys,  with  incredible  goodness.  Their  piety  is 
monstrous.  A  man's  experience  stuffed  into  a  little 
boy  is  simply  monstrous.  And  we  are  soundly  scep 
tical  of  this  whole  school  of  juvenile  pate  de  foie  graz 
piety.  Apples  that  ripen  long  before  tlieir  time  are 
either  diseased  or  worm-bitten. 

So  long  as  boys  are  babies,  how  much  are  they 
cherished  !  But  by  and  by  the  cradle  is  needed  for 
another.  From  the  time  that  a  babe  becomes  a  boy, 
until  he  is  a  young  man,  he  is  in  an  anomalous  con 
dition,  for  which  there  is  no  special  place  assigned  in 
Nature.  They  are  always  in  the  way.  They  are  al 
ways  doing  something  to  call  down  rebuke.  They  are 


74  EYES   AND   EARS. 

inquisitive  as  monkeys,  and  meddlesome  just  where 
you  don't  wish  them  to  be.  Boys  have  a  period  of 
mischief  as  much  as  they  have  measles  or  chicken-pox. 
They  invade  your  drawers,  mix  up  your  tooth-powder 
with  hair-oil ;  pull  your  laces  and  collars  from  their 
repositories ;  upset  your  ink  upon  invaluable  manu 
script  ;  tear  up  precious  letters,  scatter  your  wafers, 
stick  everything  up  with  experimental  sealing-wax ; 
and  spoil  all  your  pens,  in  the  effort  at  spoiling  all 
your  paper. 

Poor  boys !  What  are  they  good  for  ?  It  is  an  un 
fathomable  mystery  that  we  come  to  our  manhood 
(as  the  Israelites  reach  Canaan)  through  the  wilder 
ness  of  boyhood.  They  are  always  wanting  some 
thing  they  must  not  have,  going  where  they  ought 
not  to  be,  coming  where  they  are  not  wanted,  saying 
the  most  awkward  things  at  the  most  critical  times. 
They  will  tell  lies,  and,  after  infinite  pains  to  teach 
them  the  obligations  of  truth,  they  give  us  the  full 
benefit  of  frankness  and  literalness,  by  blurting  out 
before  company  a  whole  budget  of  family  secrets. 
Would  you  take  a  quiet  nap  ?  Slam-bang  go  a  whole 
bevy  of  boys  through  the  house !  Has  the  nervous 
baby  at  length,  after  all  manner  of  singings,  trottings, 
soothings,  and  maternal  bosom-opiates,  just  fallen 
asleep  ?  Be  sure  an  unmannerly  boy  will  be  on  hand 
to  bawl  out  for  permission  to  do  something  or  other, 
which  he  has  been  doing  all  day  without  dreaming  of 
leave. 

Who  shall  describe  the  daily  battle  of  the  hair 
and  the  bath,  the  ordeal  of  aprons  for  the  table,  the 
placing  and  moving  up,  and  the  endless  task  of  good 
manners  ?  If  there  is  one  saint  that  ought  to  stand 


CITY  BOYS  IN  THE   COUNTRY.  75 

higher  than  another  on  the  calendar,  it  is  a  patient, 
sweet-tempered  children's  nurse !  Talk  of  saintship, 
simply  because  a  man  lived  in  a  cave,  and  was  ab 
stemious,  or  because  he  died  bravely  at  the  stake  ! 
What  are  fagots  of  fiery  sticks  for  a  few  hot  mo 
ments  compared  to  those  animated  fagots  which  con 
sume  nurses  and  governesses  for  months  and  years, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  occasional  variety  of  parental 
coals  ! 

Are  we,  then,  not  on  the  boys'  side  ?  To  be  sure 
we  are.  It  is  not  their  fault  that  they  are  boys,  nor 
that  older  people  are  not  patient. 

The  restless  activity  of  boys  is  their  necessity.  To 
restrain  it  is  to  thwart  Nature.  We  need  to  provide 
for  it.  Not  to  attempt  to  find  amusement  for  them, 
but  to  give  them  opportunity  to  amuse  themselves. 
It  is  astonishing  to  see  how  little  it  requires  to  satisfy 
a  boy-nature. 

First  in  the  list  we  put  strings.  What  grown-up 
people  find  in  a  thousand  forms  of  business  and  so 
ciety,  a  boy  secures  in  a  string!  He  ties  up  the 
door  for  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  untying  it  again. 
He  harnesses  chairs,  ties  up  his  own  fingers,  halters 
his  neck,  coaxes  a  lesser  urchin  to  become  his  horse, 
and  drives  stage,  —  which,  with  boys,  is  the  top  of 
human  attainment.  Strings  are  wanted  for  snares, 
for  bows  and  arrows,  for  whips,  for  cat's-cradles,  for 
kites,  for  fishing,  and  a  hundred  things  more  than 
I  can  recollect.  A  knife  is  more  exciting  than  a 
string,  but  does  not  last  so  long,  and  is  not  so  vari 
ous.  After  a  short  time  it  is  lost,  or  broken,  or  has 
cut  the  fingers.  But  a  string  is  the  instrument  of 
endless  devices,  and  within  the  management  and  in- 


76  EYES  AND  EARS. 

genuity  of  a  boy.  The  first  article  that  parents  should 
lay  in,  on  going  into  the  country,  is  a  large  ball  of 
twine.  The  boys  must  not  know  it.  If  they  see  a 
whole  ball  the  charm  is  broken.  It  must  come  forth 
mysteriously,  unexpectedly,  and  as  if  there  were  no 
more  ! 

For  indoors,  next,  we  should  place  upon  the  list 
pencils  and  white  paper.  At  least  one  hour  in  every 
day  will  be  safely  secured  by  that.  A  slate  and  pencil 
are  very  good.  But  as  children  always  aspire  to  do 
what  men  do,  they  account  the  unused  half  of  a  letter 
and  a  bit  of  pencil  to  be  worth  twice  as  much  as  any 
slate. 

Upon  the  whole,  we  think  a  safe  stream  of  water 
near  by  affords  the  greatest  amount  of  enjoyment 
among  all  natural  objects.  There  is  wading  and  wash 
ing  ;  there  is  throwing  of  stones,  and  finding  of 
pebbles ;  there  is  engineering,  of  the  most  laborious 
kind,  by  which  stone  and  mud  are  made  to  dam  up 
the  water,  or  to  change  the  channel.  Besides  these 
things,  boys  are  sensitive  to  that  nameless  attraction 
of  beauty  which  specially  hovers  about  the  sides  of 
streams ;  and  though  they  may  not  recognize  the 
cause,  they  are  persuaded  of  the  fact  that  they  are 
very  happy  when  there  are  stones  with  gurgling  water 
around  them,  shady  trees,  and  succulent  undergrowth, 
moss,  and  water-cress,  insect,  bird,  and  all  the  popu 
lation  of  cool  water-courses. 

But  boys  are  not  always  boys.  All  that  is  in  us 
in  leaf  is  in  them  in  bud.  The  very  yearnings,  the 
imaginings,  the  musings,  yea,  the  very  questions, 
which  -occupy  our  later  years  as  serious  tasks,  are 
found  in  the  occasional  hours  of  boyhood.  We  have 


CITY   BOYS   IN   THE   COUNTEY.  77 

scarcely  heard  one  moral  problem  discussed  in  later 
life  that  is  not  questioned  by  children.  The  creation 
of  the  world,  the  origin  of  evil,  divine  foreknowledge, 
human  liberty,  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  vari 
ous  other  elements  of  elaborate  systems,  belong  to 
childhood.  Men  trace  the  connections  of  truths,  and 
their  ethical  applications  and  relations,  but  the  simple 
elements  of  the  most  recondite  truths  seem  to  have 
gained  in  them  very  little  by  the  progress  of  years. 
Indeed,  all  truths  whose  root  and  life  are  in  the  Infi 
nite  are  like  the  fixed  stars,  which  become  no  larger 
under  the  most  powerful  telescope  than  to  the  natural 
eye.  Their  distance  is  too  vast  to  make  any  appreci 
able  variation  in  magnitude  possible.  They  are  mere 
points  of  light. 

Boys  have  their  soft  and  gentle  words  too.  You 
would  suppose  by  the  morning  racket  that  nothing 
could  be  more  foreign  to  their  nature  than  romance 
and  vague  sadness,  such  as  ideality  produces  in 
adults.  But  boys  have  hours  of  great  sinking  and 
sadness,  when  kindness  and  fondness  are  peculiarly 
needful  to  them. 

It  is  worthy  of  notice,  how  soon  a  little  kindness,  a 
little  consideration  for  their  boy-nature,  wins  their  con 
fidence  and  caresses.  Every  boy  wants  some  one  older 
than  himself  to  whom  he  may  go  in  moods  of  confi 
dence  and  yearning.  The  neglect  of  this  child's  want 
by  grown  people,  and  the  treating  of  children  as  little 
rattling,  noisy  imps,  not  yet  subject  to  heart-throes 
because  they  are  so  frolicsome  in  general,  is  a  fertile 
source  of  suffering.  One  of  the  most  common  forms 
of  selfishness  is  that  which  refuses  to  recognize  any 
experience  as  worthy  of  attention  if  it  lies  in  a  sphere 


78  EYES  AND  EARS. 

below  our  own.  Not  only  ought  a  man  to  humble 
himself  as  a  little  child,  but  also  to  little  children. 

A  thousand  things  are  blamed  in  them  simply 
because,  measured  by  our  manhood  standard,  they 
are  unfit,  whereas  upon  the  scale  of  childhood  they 
are  congruous  and  proper.  We  deny  children's  re 
quests  often  upon  the  scale  of  our  own  likings  and 
dislikings.  We  attempt  to  govern  them  by  a  man's 
regimen,  and  not  by  a  child's. 

And  yet,  badgered,  snubbed,  and  scolded  on  the 
one  hand ;  petted,  flattered,  and  indulged  on  the 
other,  —  it  is  astonishing  how  many  children  work 
their  way  up  to  an  honest  manhood  in  spite  of  parents 
and  friends.  Human  nature  has  an  element  of  great 
toughness  in  it.  When  we  see  what  men  are  made 
of,  our  wonder  is,  not  that  so  many  children  are 
spoiled,  but  that  so  many  are  saved. 

The  country  is  appointed  of  God  to  be  the  chil 
dren's  nursery  ;  the  city  seems  to  have  been  made 
by  malign  spirits  to  destroy  children  in.  They  are 
cramped  for  room,  denied  exercise,  restrained  of 
wholesome  liberty  of  body,  or,  if  it  be  allowed,  it  is 
at  the  risk  of  morals. 

Children  are  half  educated  who  are  allowed  to  be 
familiar  with  the  scenes  and  experiences  of  the  open 
country.  For  this,  if  for  no  other  reason,  parents 
might  make  an  effort  every  year  to  remove  their 
children  for  some  months  from  the  city  to  the  coun 
try.  For  the  best  effect,  it  is  desirable  that  they 
should  utterly  leave  the  city  behind  them.  It  is  ab 
surd  to  go  into  the  country  to  find  all  the  luxuries  of 
a  city.  It  is  to  get  rid  of  them  that  they  go.  Men 
are  cumbered  and  hampered  by  too  much  convenience 


A   TIME   AT   THE   WHITE   MOUNTAINS.  79 

in  the  city.  They  grow  artificial.  They  lose  a  relish 
for  natural  beauty  and  the  simple  occupations  of  rural 
life.  Our  children  need  a  separate  and  special  train 
ing  in  country  education.  We  send  them  to  the 
Polytechnique  for  eight  months.  But  for  four  months 
we  send  them  to  God's  school  in  the  openness  and 
simplicity  of  the  country.  A  diploma  in  this  school 
will  be  of  service  to  body  and  mind  while  life  lasts. 

* 


A    TIME    AT    THE    WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


FTER  a  week  or  two  among  the  White 
Mountains,  I  have  concluded  not  to  write 
about  them.  They  are  a  university  of  moun 
tains.  One  must  enter  regularly,  pursue 
the  course  of  study,  and  graduate,  before  he  is  worthy 
of  a  moimtameer's  degree,  —  and  before  he  under 
takes  to  write  in  any  worthy  manner.  As  I  am  only 
a  freshman,  and  in  the  first  term  at  that,  I  do  not  pro 
pose  to  set  forth  and  write  out  the  whole  of  the  White 
Mountains.  In  riding  along  these  green  lanes,  we 
often  break  off —  or  twist  off,  rather  —  a  branch  of 
birch,  and,  bruising  the  skin,  carry'  it  for  the  sake 
of  its  delightful  fragrance.  In  like  manner,  I  will 
give  you  just  a  sprig  of  my  experience. 

The  descent  from  the  top  of  Mount  Washington, 
toward  the  Gibbs  House,  had  in  it  one  half-hour  of 
extreme  pleasure  and  two  hours  of  common  pleasure. 
After  leaving  the  summit  hill,  I  shot  ahead  of  the 
fifteen  or  twenty  in  the  party,  and  rode  along  the 


80  EYES  AND  EARS. 

ridge  that  separates  the  eastern  and  western  valleys. 
Beginning  at  our  very  feet  as  little  crevices  or  pet 
ty  gorges,  the  valleys  widened,  and  deepened,  and 
stretched  forth,  until  on  either  side  they  grew  dim 
in  the  distance,  and  the  eye  disputed  with  itself 
whether  it  was  lake  or  cloud  that  spotted  the  hori 
zon  with  silver.  The  valleys  articulated  with  this 
ridge  as  ribs  with  a  backbone.  As  I  rode  along  this 
jagged  and  broken  path,  except  of  my  horse's  feet 
there  was  not  a  single  sound.  There  was  no  wind. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  to  sing  through  if  there  had 
been  ever  so  much.  There  were  no  birds.  There 
were  no  chirping  insects.  I  saw  no  insects  except 
spiders,  that  here,  as  everywhere,  seemed  well  fed 
and  carried  plump  bellies.  There  was  perfect  peace, 
perfect  stillness,  universal  brightness,  the  fulness  of 
vision,  and  a  wondrous  glory  in  the  heaven  and  over 
all  the  earth.  The  earth  was  to  me  as  it  were  un 
peopled.  I  saw  neither  towns  nor  cities,  neither 
houses  nor  villages,  neither  smoke  nor  motion  nor 
sign  of  life.  I  stopped,  and  imagined  that  I  was  as 
they  were  who  first  explored  this  ridgy  wilderness, 
and  knew  that  as  far  as  eye  could  reach  not  a  white 
man  lived.  And  yet  these  thoughts  were  soon  chased 
away  by  the  certainty  that  under  that  silvery  haze 
were  thousands  of  toiling  men,  romping  children, 
mothers  and  maidens,  and  the  world  was  going  on 
below  just  as  usual.  How  are  the  birds  to  be  envied 
who  make  airy  mountains  by  their  wings  !  Could  I 
rise  six  thousand  feet  above  the  ground,  that  were 
substantially  to  be  on  the  mountain-top.  Then,  when 
the  multitude  wearied  us,  and  the  soul  would  bathe 
in  silence,  I  would  with  a  few  beats  lift  up  through 


A   TIME   AT   THE   WHITE   MOUNTAINS.  81 

the  air,  and  seek  the  solitude  of  space,  and  hide  in 
the  clefts  of  clouds,  or  ride  unexplored  ranges  of 
crystal-white  cloud-mountains,  that  scorn  footsteps, 
and  on  whose  radiant  surfaces  an  army  of  feet  would 
wear  no  path,  leave  no  mark,  but  fade  out  as  do  steps 
upon  the  water ! 

And  so,  for  a  half-hour,  I  rode  alone,  without  the 
rustle  of  leaves,  without  hum  or  buzz,  without  that 
nameless  mixture  of  pipes,  small  and  great,  which 
fill  the  woods  or  sing  along  the  surface  of  the  plains. 
There  were  no  nuts  to  fall,  no  branches  to  snap, 
no  squirrel  to  bark,  no  birds  to  fly  out  and  flap 
away  through  the  leaves.  The  matted  moss  was  born 
and  bred  in  silence.  The  stunted  savins  and  cedars, 
crouched  down  close  to  the  earth  from  savage  winds, 
as  partridges  crouch  when  hawks  are  in  the  air.  The 
forests  in  the  chasms  and  valleys  below  were  like 
bushes  or  overgrown  moss.  If  there  were  any  wind 
down  there,  if  they  shook  their  leaves  to  its  piping, 
and  danced  when  it  bid  them,  it  was  all  the  same  to 
me.  For  motion  or  rest  were  alike  at  this  distance. 

There  is  above  every  man's  head  a  height  into 
which  he  may  rise,  and  whether  care  and  trouble 
fret  below,  or  tear  on,  they  become  alike  silent  and 
powerless.  It  is  only  our  affections  that  mount  up 
and  dwell  with  us,  where  bickerings  and  burdens 
may  never  come. 

Out  of  these  chambers  of  the  air  I  remembered  the 
world  afar  off,  as  one  remembers  the  fairy  tales  of 
his  childhood.  The  cities  we  had  trodden  seem  in 
the  mind  like  pencil-traced  pictures  half  rubbed  out. 
The  real  New  York  seemed  too  impossible  even  for 
a  dream.  That  Boston  really  lay  sweltering  by  the 


82  EYES   AND  EARS. 

sea-side  excited  a  smile  of  incredulity.  As  I  rode 
along,  I  tried  the  effect  of  speech.  I  called  out  aloud. 
The  sound  fell  from  my  lips,  and  ceased  forever. 
No  mountains  caught  it  and  nourished  it  in  echoes. 
I  called  again.  But  there  was  in  a  second  no  voice, 
and  none  that  echoed.  I  called  a  third  time  with 
better  success,  for  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  party 
had  crept  upon  my  loitering,  and,  supposing  himself 
called,  gave  me  back  a  very  unexpected  and  most  un 
welcome  answer.  The  bubble  burst!  My  half-hour, 
like  a  sweet  dream  interrupted,  fled  away,  and  I  could 
not  dream  it  again  ! 

Beaching  the  hotel  in  due  season,  tired  and  sweaty, 
a  bath  must  be  had.  We  went  toward  the  Notch, 
and  turning  to  the  right  at  the  first  little  stream  that 
let  itself  down  from  the  mountains,  we  sought  the 
pools  in  which  we  knew  such  streams  kept  their 
sweetest  thoughts,  expressing  them  by  trout.  The 
only  difficulty  was  in  the  selection.  This  pool  was 
deep,  rock-rimmed,  transparent,  gravel-bottomed.  The 
next  was  level-edged  and  rock-bottomed,  but  received 
its  water  with  such  a  gush,  that  it  whirled  around  the 
basin  in  a  liquid  dance  of  bubbles.  The  next  one 
received  a  divided  stream,  one  part  coming  over  a 
shelving  rock  and  sheeting  down  in  white,  while  the 
other  portion  fell  into  a  hollow  and  murmuring 
crevice,  and  came  gurgling  forth  from  a  half-dark 
channel.  Half-way  down,  the  rock  was  smooth  and 
pleasant  to  the  feet.  In  the  deepest  part  were  fine 
gravel  and  powdered  mountain,  commonly  called 
sand.  The  waters  left  this  pool  even  more  beauti 
fully  than  they  entered  it ;  for  the  rock  had  been 
rounded  and  grooved,  so  that  it  gave  a  channel  like 


A   TIME   AT   THE   WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  83 

the  finest  moulded  lip  of  a  water-vase  ;  and  the  moss, 
beginning  below,  had  crept  up  into  the  very  throat 
of  the  passage,  and  lined  it  completely,  giving  to  the 
clear  water  a  green  hue  as  it  rushed  through,  whirl 
ing  itself  into  a  plexus  of  cords,  or  a  kind  of  pul 
sating  braid  of  water.  This  was  my  pool.  It  waited 
for  me.  How  deliciously  it  opened  its  flood  to  my 
coming.  It  rushed  up  to  every  pore,  and  sheeted  my 
skin  with  an  aqueous  covering,  prepared  in  the  moun 
tain  water-looms.  Ah  !  the  coldness :  every  drop  was 
molten  hail.  It  was  the  very  brother  of  ice.  At  a 
mere  hint  of  winter  it  would  change  to  ice  again  ! 
If  the  crystal  nook  were  such  a  surprise  of  delight  to 
me,  what  must  I  have  been  to  it,  that  had  perhaps 
never  been  invaded,  unless  by  the  lip  of  a  moose  or 
by  the  lithe  and  spotted  form  of  sylvan  trout !  The 
drops  and  bubbles  ran  up  to  me  and  broke  about 
my  neck,  and  ran  laughing  away,  frolicking  over  the 
mossy  margin,  and  I  could  hear  them  laughing  all 
the  way  down  below.  Such  a  monster  had  never  per 
haps  taken  covert  in  the  pure,  pellucid  bowl  before  ! 

But  this  was  the  centre  part.  Not  less  memorable 
was  the  fringe.  The  trees  hung  in  the  air  on  either 
side,  and  stretched  their  green  leaves  for  a  roof  far 
above.  The  birch  and  alder,  with  here  and  there 
a  silver-fir,  in  bush  form,  edged  the  rocks  on  either 
side.  As  you  looked  up  the  stream,  there  opened  an 
ascending  avenue  of  cascades,  dripping  rocks,  bearded 
with  moss,  crevices  filled  with  grass  or  dwarfed  shrubs, 
until  the  whole  was  swallowed  up  in  the  leaves  and 
trees  far  above.  But  if  you  turned  down  the  stream, 
then  through  a  lane  of  richest  green  stood  the  open 
sky,  and  lifted  up  against  it  thousands  of  feet  Mount 


84  EYES   AND  EARS. 

Willard,  rocky  and  rent,  or  with  but  here  and  there 
a  remnant  of  evergreens,  sharp  and  ragged.  The  sun 
was  behind  it,  and  poured  against  its  farther  side  his 
whole  tide  of  light,  which  lapped  over,  as  a  stream 
dashes  over  its  bounds  and  spills  its  waters  beyond. 
So  it  stood  up  over  against  this  ocean  of  atmospheric 
gold,  banked  huge  and  rude,  against  a  most  resplen 
dent  heaven ! 

As  I  stood  donning  my  last  articles  of  raiment,  and 
wringing  my  over-wet  hair,  I  saw  a  trout  move  very 
deliberately  out  from  under  a  rock  by  which  I  had 
lain,  and  walk  quietly  across  to  the  other  side.  As 
he  entered  the  crevice,  a  smaller  one  left  it,  and  came 
as  demurely  across  to  his  rock.  It  was  evident  that 
the  old  people  had  sent  them  out  to  see  if  the  coast 
were  clear,  and  whether  any  damage  had  been  done. 
Probably  it  was  thought  that  there  had  been  a  slide 
in  the  mountain,  and  that  a  huge  icicle  or  lump  of 
snow  had  plunged  into  their  pool,  and  melted  away 
there.  If  there  are  piscatory  philosophers  below  water 
half  as  wise  as  those  above,  this  would  be  a  very  fair 
theory  of  the  disturbance  to  which  their  mountain 
homestead  had  been  subjected.  As  I  had  eaten  of 
their  salt,  of  course  I  respected  the  laws  of  hospi 
tality,  and  no  deceptive  fly  of  mine  shall  ever  tempt 
trout  in  a  brook  which  begets  pools  so  lovely,  and  in 
pools  that  yield  themselves  with  such  delicious  em 
brace  to  the  pleasures  of  a  mountain  bath. 

And  so,  as  the  sun  was  gone,  it  was  time  for  me  to 
go.  Step  by  step  I  climbed  the  moss-carpeted  rocks  ; 
slipped  in  due  degree,  leaped  the  wide-set  stones,  got 
caught  on  the  dead  branches  of  the  cedar,  climbed 
astride  over  the  birch,  and  reached  the  road. 


OUR  FIRST  EXPERIENCE  WITH  A  SEWING-MACHINE.        85 


OUE    FIRST    EXPERIENCE    WITH   A   SEWING- 
MACHINE. 


MONG  the  things  which  we  did  not,  but  now 
do  believe  in,  is  the  SEWING-MACHINE.  One 
thing  after  another  had  been  invented,  one 
machine  after  another  had  superseded  man 
ual  labor,  until  human  hands  seemed  about  to  go  out 
of  use,  for  any  other  mechanical  purposes  than  those 
of  lovers'  pressures,  orators'  gestures,  and  for  beaux' 
and  belles'  gloves.  But  we  always  consoled  ourselves, 
that  one  or  two  things  there  were  yet  which  no  ma 
chinery  could  perform.  We  could  imagine  children 
put  through  a  whipping-machine,  and  we  had  long 
been  accustomed  to  see  them  taught  by  automatic 
machines.  There  was  the  time-honored  business 
handed  down  to  us  without  a  break,  from  the  Garden 
of  Eden,  of  courting,  —  and  kissing  as  one  of  its  or 
dinances  ;  —  no  machinery  could  ever  perform  that ! 
Machine-poetry  and  machine-sermons  we  were  famil 
iar  with.  Babbage  can  make  machines  for  ciphering, 
for  computing  logarithms,  for  casting  up  interest ;  but 
can  he  invent  a  machine  for  saving  interest,  —  and 
capital  too,  for  that  matter  ?  And  oh  !  can  there  ever 
be  a  machine  for  answering  letters  ?  We  would  pay 
any  price  for  a  machine  into  which  letters  being  put, 
and  a  crank  turned,  there  should  drop  out  at  the  other 
side  answers  as  good  as  the  letters,  folded,  directed, 
and  stamped  ! 

But  machines  have  steadily  gained  ground,  and  the 
iron  muscle  has  relieved  the  flesh  hand ;  —  machines 


86  EYES  AND  EARS. 

for  boring,  sawing,  cutting,  planing ;  for  making 
bread  (I  wish  there  was  one  for  eating  some  of  it), 
for  pumping  water,  for  making  cattle  draw  their  own 
drink.  But,  notwithstanding,  we  firmly  believed  that 
some  things  would  never  be  done  by  any  fingers  ex 
cept  human,  and  eminent  among  these  impossible 
things  was  SEWING!  Nothing  we  were  sure  could 
ever  perform  that,  except  the  latest  and  best  invention 
of  Paradise,  — woman  ! 

When  the  rumors  began  to  prevail,  then,  respect 
ing  an  invented  sewing-machine,  we  lifted  our  eye 
brows  gently,  and  went  on  our  way  with  a  quiet  con 
sciousness  that  we  could  not  be  taken  in  by  any  such 
story.  We  regarded  it  as  of  a  piece  with  new-found 
morality  in  old  politicians,  with  the  thousand  annual 
rumors  of  some  heaven-dawned  virtue  in  Washington 
City,  —  a  mere  device  to  catch  the  credulous. 

But  day  by  day  the  clatter  grew.  Indeed,  we 
surprised  ourselves  with  a  coat,  sewed  in  important 
respects  by  machine.  We  saw  linen  pyramids  of 
sheeting  made  for  hotels  and  steamboats  by  sewing- 
machines. 

The  case  was  growing  serious  indeed ;  and  at  last 
it  came  to  a  head,  when  the  head  of  the  family  in 
formed  us  that  a  woman  was  to  come  in  a  few  days, 
with  her  Wheeler  and  Wilson,  and  do  up  the  family 
sewing.  Of  course  we  submitted  without  a  word. 
And  the  three  capable  persons  of  this  household  began 
to  prepare  matter  for  the  machine,  to  an  extent  which 
showed  how  perfectly  they  had  been  fooled  by  the 
story  of  its  executive  ability.  Piles  of  large  stuff  lay 
in  each  corner ;  little  stuff  covered  the  table  ;  and 
miscellaneous  stuff  lay  everywhere.  We  ran  against 


OUK  FIRST  EXPERIENCE  WITH  A  SEWING-MACHINE.      87 

cotton  heaps,  were  in  danger  of  getting  tangled  in 
webs  of  linen  and  sheeting  at  every  turn ;  and  such 
ripping  and  tearing  and  cutting  and  basting  as  went 
on  would  lead  one  to  imagine  that  an  army  was  to 
be  clothed. 

The  day  dawned.  The  woman  came,  and  the  iron 
Wheeler  and  Wilson  came  with  her ;  only  the  lady 
had  to  act  as  beau,  and  offer  her  aid  to  wait  on 
Messrs.  W.  and  W.  After  a  little,  there  arose  a 
hum  from  our  chamber,  not  unlike  the  buzz  of  a 
wheat-mill,  such  as  we  have  heard  in  summer,  sitting 
under  willow-trees  on  the  edge  of  a  stream,  over 
against  a  red  mill,  white-dusted.  Soon  we  heard  ex 
cited  exclamations.  Everybody  seemed  stirred  up. 
The  girls  left  their  work,  the  children  forsook  their 
playthings,  and  we  followed  the  example. 

There  sat  before  the  simple  machine-stand  a  fair 
young  woman,  some  sixteen  years  old,  whose  foot, 
like  that  of  old-fashioned  flax-spinners,  was  working 
the  treadle  with  the  nimblest  motion.  Then  came 
the  conviction,  for  the  first  time,  that  sewing  was  con 
quered  and  vanquished  !  Long  sheets,  entering  the 
fatal  pass,  streamed  through,  and  came  out  hemmed, 
in  a  ridiculously  short  time.  An  hour's  work  was 
done  up  before  your  eyes  in  one  minute.  A  shirt  was 
set  in  of  such  dimensions,  that  (we  call  Baron  Mun- 
chausen  to  witness !)  a  man  could  not  get  round 
it  by  fair  walking  in  less  than  —  well,  in  some  time ! 
It  streamed  through  the  all-puncturing  Wheeler  and 
Wilson  about  as  soon  as  a  good-sized  flag,  being 
hoisted,  would  unroll  and  flow  out  to  the  wind.  A 
bundle  of  linen  took  its  turn,  and  came  forth  a  collar, 
a  handkerchief,  a  cap.  There  goes  in  a  piece  of  cloth ! 


88  EYES  AND   EARS. 

there  comes  out  a  shirt !  We  were  bewildered.  Not 
much  was  done  for  some  hours  in  that  house  but  gaze 
and  wonder.  We  mistake ;  a  good  deal  more  was 
done,  and  done  more  effectually  than  had  ever  been 
done  in  ten  times  the  time  before !  What  heaps  of 
towels  ;  what  piles  of  sheets  ;  what  bedfuls  of  small 
trumpery  ;  what  bureaus  full  of  fine  trash  ;  what 
carpet-littering  stacks  of  unmentionable  matters  that 
make  up  the  cloth-inventory  of  household  wealth ! 

The  dismayed  woman  of  the  house  saw  her  three 
days'  prepared  work  melting  away  before  noon,  as  a 
three  days'  April  snow  disappears  in  a  few  hours  ! 

The  voracious  machine  began  to  show  its  teeth  and 
to  demand  more  food  ;  and  now  it  was  a  fair  race, 
whether  two  women  could  prepare  as  much  as  one 
machine  could  perform  !  It  did  our  very  souls  good. 
At  last  we  hoped  that  this  was  working  fast  enough. 
0,  what  early  hours  has  our  lamp  been  made  to  illu 
mine  !  Ah,  what  breakfasts  have  we  eaten,  and 
seen  cleared  away,  long  before  the  sun  touched  even 
the  cheek  of  day.  What  impetuous  industry  has 
glowed  about  the  house, — forenoon,  afternoon,  night, 
midnight,  never  enough,  never  overmatched !  We 
gre^  tired  even  to  look  at  it !  At  last,  said  we, 
You  Ve  got  your  match.  Now,  then,  we  will  sit 
down  and  see  this  race  with  a  satisfaction  that  shall 
include  years  of  revenge  for  disturbed  indolence  ! 

For  a  long  time  the  match  was  doubtful.  Some 
times  it  was  the  machine  that  had  the  advantage,  and 
sometimes  it  was  not.  The  contest  was  passing  into 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  It  was  doubtful.  Some 
times  the  fast-driven  needle  evidently  gained ;  then 
again,  in  rounding  up  a  sleeve-gathering,  the  needle 


HUNTING  FLIES.  89 

flagged,  and  then  the  hand-worked  scissors  gained ! 
But  iron  and  steel  are  more  enduring  even  than  a 
housewife's  courage.  And  though,  for  any  single 
hour,  the  hand  could  prepare  faster  than  the  machine 
could  execute,  yet,  taking  the  day  through,  Wheeler 
and  Wilson  had  the  advantage,  and  came  out  at  dark 
decidedly  ahead.  That  settled  it.  There  was  a  revo 
lution  in  this  household.  Our  Miriam  sounded  her 
timbrel,  and  triumphed  over  the  cruel  Pharaoh  of  the 
needle,  whose  dynasty  and  despotism  were  ended ! 
•  Now  sewing  is  the  family  amusement.  Our  Wheeler 
and  Wilson  is  played  on  a  great  deal  more  than  our 
Steinway  piano,  —  and  is  the  cause,  too,  of  more  real 
music  than  is  ever  got  out  of  that  instrument ;  for  two 
canary  birds,  perched  on  either  side  of  the  book-case, 
understand  the  first  click  of  the  sewing-machine  to 
be  a  challenge,  and  while  the  machine  sings  staccato, 
they  warble  ad  libitum,  —  and  between  the  solfeggio 
of  the  one  and  the  cantabile  of  the  other  we  go  crazy. 

•K 


HUNTING    FLIES. 

1855. 

HERE  are  two  degrees  in  this  art,  viz.  F.  H. 
and  F.  C.,  —  Fly  Hunting  and  Fly  Catch 
ing.  The  first  is  easy,  but  few  can  have  a 
diploma  for  the  last.  We  opened  the  door 
to  let  the  warmth  out  of  our  over-heated  study,  and  in 
came  a  boisterous  fly,  almost  as  big  as  a  bee,  and  ten 
times  as  important.  One  would  think  him  a  courier 
before  all  the  emperors  on  earth,  or  the  chief  of  poli- 


90  EYES  AND  EARS. 

ticians  about  to  utter  a  speech,  or  a  Monsieur  Jullien, 
lecturing  his  hundred  instruments,  each  in  his  own 
tongue. 

It  was  an  annoyance  ;  for  when  one  has  a  little  bit 
of  an  inspiration  of  his  own,  and  is  about  to  make  a 
flourish  on  paper,  he  does  not  care  to  have  himself 
burlesqued.  Did  you  ever  undertake  to  drive  one 
fly  out  of  a  large  room,  with  a  high  ceiling  ?  We 
took  our  broom  and  struck  at  the  busy  fellow,  with 
only  the  effect  of  immensely  quickening  his  activity. 
Whereas,  before,  he  buzzed  in  stately  circuits,  he  now 
set  about  such  a  series  of  nimble  whirls,  now  near  the 
floor,  then,  before  we  could  detect  him  with  our  eye, 
up  by  the  ceiling ;  now  by  the  door,  then  by  the  win 
dow,  and  giving  out  a  sound  like  a  wheel  in  a  factory, 
until  our  anger  changed  to  mirth,  and  the  attempt  at 
hitting  him  became  ludicrous.  We  smote  here  and 
there  ;  we  beat  the  books,  the  wall,  the  carpet,  the 
stove,  —  everything  but  the  fly.  He  seemed  to  be 
the  only  one  that  fully  enjoyed  himself.  At  length 
we  sat  down,  hoping  the  busy  impertinence  would 
settle  somewhere.  So  he  did,  —  right  before  our  face, 
on  the  desk,  and  crept  about  with  such  a  nimble,  pert, 
business-like  air,  that  one  could  not  help  thinking 
that  he  said,  "  Were  you  not  looking  for  us,  sir,  just 
now  ?  Is  there  anything  that  you  particularly  want  ? 
Can't  we  serve  you?"  —  and  with  that,  undoubtedly 
unable  to  restrain  the  laughter  that  swelled  his  blue 
jacket,  he  flew  up  and  whirred  and  whirled,  bounced 
and  buzzed  ;  bumped  the  window,  and  bizzed  against 
the  wall,  and  went  through  all  the  waltzes,  polkas, 
schottishes,  that  ever  were  conceived  of,  —  a  perfect 
aerial  quadrille. 


BACK  AGAIN.  91 

Well,  this  is  amusing  enough  on  a  small  scale ; 
but  it  is  rather  sad  to  see  it  on  a  large  scale.  New 
York  has  been  after  its  corrupt  and  corrupting  alder 
men  for  months  past,  swinging  the  broom  of  justice 
after  them ;  smiting  here  and  smiting  there,  but 
always  hitting  the  place  that  the  rogues  had  just  left. 
And  nobody  is  so  happy,  so  fat,  so  nimble,  so  amiable 
and  familiar  with  justice,  as  these  amazing  aldermen. 

Methinks  we  see  our  example  imitated,  also,  in 
the  grandest  style,  by  no  less  a  broom-holder  than 
the  President  of  these  United  States.  He  shakes  his 
broom,  now  at  Disunionists,  now  at  Free-Soilers,  and 
then  at  all  who  hate  both  of  them.  Indeed,  his  task 
is  worse  than  ours ;  for  he  has  flies  to  drive  out,  and 
flies  to  drive  in,  and  a  part  of  the  time  it  is  very  un 
certain  which  is  which.  Lately  several  big  flies  have 
been  buzzing  in  the  custom-house,  so  that  the  Presi 
dent  could  get  no  peace  even  in  Washington.  And 
less  ever  since  he  has  been  flirting  the  broom  than 
before. 

* 


BACK    AGAIN. 

]E  are  always  glad  to  get  out  of  the  city  in 
summer,  and  always  glad  to  get  back  again 
when  the  vacation  is  up.  Ten  months  of 
city  labor  prepare  one  for  the  luxury  of  rest, 
or,  what  is  better,  light  occupation  and  country  scenes. 
A  man  in  the  country  may,  and  often  does,  work  in 
cessantly,  and  up  to  the  measure  of  his  strength  ;  and 
a  city  clergyman  can  do  no  more  than  that.  Yet  the 


92  EYES   AND  EARS. 

labor  of  a  city  pastor  is  more  exacting  and  more  ex 
haustive  of  nervous  vitality.  Unless  he  shut  himself 
up,  and  bar  and  bolt  his  seclusion,  he  knows  nothing 
either  of  leisure  or  rest,  in  the  sense  of  quietness 
and  being  let  alone.  The  very  roar  of  the  street 
is  an  imperceptible  excitement.  To  walk  through  the 
thoroughfares,  to  see  the  rush  and  whirl  and  anxious 
haste  of  so  many  men,  imparts  something  of  anxious 
haste  or  feverishness  to  your  mind.  Then  there  is  an 
endless  succession  of  things  to  be  done,  that  require 
time  for  the  doing,  but  leave  you  nothing  to  show 
at  the  end  of  the  week.  There  are  committees  and 
consultations,  there  are  private  meetings  and  public 
meetings,  there  are  new  movements  to  be  initiated, 
and  old  ones  to  be  kept  up.  Everybody  has  every 
thing  to  do,  and  clergymen  are  the  ones  expected  to 
advise  everybody  about  everything  that  does  not  come 
within  limitation  of  business  partnerships.  The  sick 
have  a  right  to  the  minister.  If  they  be  strangers 
and  poor,  a  yet  better  right.  The  poor  have  a  right 
to  expect  that  he,  at  least,  will  have  concern  for 
them.  The  afflicted  look  to  him.  Those  who  are  in 
comfort,  whose  friends  are  good  counsellors,  do  not 
know  how  many  thousands  there  are  in  the  city  that 
have  no  one  to  go  to.  A  widow  wishes  to  put  her 
boy  to  a  good  trade  ;  who  shall  advise  her  ?  Who 
shall  ascertain  for  her  if  the  place  thought  of  be  safe 
and  the  man  honorable?  A  young  man  is  run  down 
and  discouraged  ;  lacks  a  place  and  means  of  liveli 
hood.  Where,  among  strangers,  can  he  find  help,  if 
ministers  do  not  give  it  to  him  ?  Parents  are  troubled 
about  their  children,  just  passing  through  the  crisis 
of  life ;  they  are  not  boys  any  longer,  nor  are  they 


BACK   AGAIN.  93 

men.     It  is  a  help  and  a  comfort,  if  they  have  not 
better  advisers,  to  go  to  their  minister. 

One  sort  of  men  think  of  clergymen  simply  as 
the  preachers  of  sermons.  They  think  their  life  and 
labor  is  deep  and  subtle,  —  study  through  the  week, 
and  utterance  on  Sunday.  Others  think  of  clergymen 
simply  in  their  relations  to  public  enterprises.  They 
ought  to  lead  here,  and  lead  there.  They  ought  to 
appear  in  this  meeting,  and  in  that.  If  a  man  do 
not  preach  ably,  he  is  good  for  nothing,  some  think. 
If  he  be  not  a  reformer,  a  thorough  progressive,  then 
others  think  he  is  worse  than  useless.  Now  we  surely 
wish  every  minister  were  a  good  and  able  preacher ; 
and  we  wish  it  were  the  conscience-necessity  of  every 
minister  to  lead  his  people,  and,  as  far  as  his  influ 
ence  allowed,  the  community,  in  all  well-considered 
advance  movements.  But  these  are  not  all  his  func 
tions.  These  are  tlfe  public  aspects.  His  private, 
work,  his  ten  thousand  services  to  individuals,  to  the 
unfriended,  the  tempted,  the  poor,  the  afflicted,  the 
perplexed  ;  the  giving  of  counsel  to  the  weak,  encour 
agement  to  the  desponding ;  the  taking  care  of  men 
one  by  one  and  in  detail,  as  well  as  generic  and 
wholesome  movements  for  communities  and  mankind, 
constitute  an  immense  proportion  of  his  labor.  It  is 
that  part  which  takes  the  most  out  of  him  in  time, 
strength,  and  nerves.  It^is  that  which  he  feels  more 
than  study  or  speaking.  It  is  that  of  which  his  peo 
ple  have  the  least  conception.  They  naturally  judge 
by  what  they  see,  and  they  see  that  which  is  in  the 
pulpit  and  on  the  platform.  * 

It  is  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.    The  day  is  begun. 
The  family  are  emerging.     Breakfast  will  be  ready  in 


94  EYES   AND  EARS. 

half  an  hour.  You  look  for  the  Tribune.  The  bell 
rings.  A  man  has  called  thus  early,  for  fear  you 
might  be  out.  You  despatch  his  business.  Sitting 
down  to  breakfast,  the  bell  rings,  and  the  servant  says 
the  man  will  wait.  But  what  pleasure  can  one  have 
at  a  meal  with  a  man  up-stairs  waiting  for  him,  and 
the  consciousness  of  it  hastening  the  coffee  and  the 
toast  on  their  way  ?  You  run  up.  Can  you  marry  a 
couple  at  so  and  so  ?  That  is  settled.  Prayers  are 
had  with  the  family.  The  bell  rings,  once,  twice, 
three  times.  When  you  rise,  there  are  five  persons 
waiting  for  you  in  the  front  parlor.-  A  young  man 
from  the  country  wishes  your  name  on  his  circular 
for  a  school.  A  young  woman  is  failing  in  health  by 
confinement  to  sewing ;  does  not  know  what  to  do ; 
behind  in  rent ;  cannot  get  away  to  the  country  ; 
does  not  wish  charity ;  only  wishes  some  one  to  enable 
her  to  break  away  from  a  state*of  things  that  will  in 
six  months  kill  her.  Another  called  to  inquire  after 
a  friend  of  whom  he  has  lost  sight.  While  you  are 
attending  to  these,  the  bell  is  active,  and  other  per 
sons  take  the  places  of  those  that  go.  A  poor  mother 
wants  to  buy  her  son's  wife  out  of  slavery.  A  kind 
woman  calls  in  behalf  of  a  boarder  who  is  out  of 
place,  desponding,  will  throw  himself  away  if  he  can 
not  get  some  means  of  livelihood.  Another  calls  to 
know  if  I  will  not  visit  a  po£>r  family  in  great  distress, 

in  Street.      A   good  and  honest  looking  man 

comes  next ;  is  out  of  work  ;  has  "  heard  that  '  your 
riverince  '  is  a  kind  man,"  etc.  Another  man  wants 
to  get  his  family  out  from  Ireland,  can  pay  half,  if 
some  one  will  intercede  with  ship-owners  to  trust  him 
the  balance.  A  stranger  has  died,  and  a  sexton  de- 


BACK   AGAIN.  95 

sires  a  clergyman's  services.  Several  persons  desire 
religious  conversation.  It  is  after  ten  o'clock.  A 
moment's  lull.  You  catch  your  hat  and  run  out. 
Perhaps  you  have  forgotten  some  appointment.  You 
betake  yourself  to  your  study,  not  a  little  flurried 
by  the  contrariety  of  things  which  you  have  been 
considering.  You  return  to  dine.  There  are  five 
or  six  persons  waiting  for  you.  At  tea  you  find 
others,  also,  with  their  divers  necessities. 

This  is  not  overdrawn  ;  and  for  months  of  the  year 
it  is  far  underdrawn.  There  is  no  taxation  compar 
able  to  an  incessant  various  conversation  with  people 
for  whom  you  must  think,  devise,  and  for  whose  help 
you  feel  yourself  often  utterly  incompetent. 

Yet  it  is  right  that  people  should  have  some  one  to 
go  to.  It  is  right  that  Christian  ministers  should  be 
the  persons.  It  is  religion  in  its  form  of  benevolence 
thus  to  stand  on  the  side  of  weakness,  want,  igno 
rance,  repentant  wickedness,  —  for  their  relief. 

But  when  ten  months  of  incessant  attrition  have 
exhausted  one's  nervous  store,  the  bell  becomes  an 
affliction  ;  we  dread  its  sound.  We  long  for  calm 
ness,  for  solitude,  for  rest.  We  seek  the  coolest,  most 
secluded  spots.  There  must  be  many  attractions  of 
scenery ;  but,  before  all  other  things,  there  must  not 
be  many  people  there. 

Six  weeks  of  rest  change  all  that.  The  feverish 
impatience  is  gone.  Your  old  love  of  work  comes 
back.  You  return  to  your  post  with  secret  joy.  You 
are  eager  for  work.  The  old  bell  is  musical.  You 
begin  again  to  listen,  to  urge  or  dissuade,  to  counsel 
or  to  direct,  those  who  come.  You  find  the  foun 
tains  of  speech  flowing  once  more.  The  face  of  the 


96  EYES  AND  EARS. 

great  congregation  is  inspiring  to  you.  And,  after 
your  vacation,  you  are  worth  a  great  deal  more  to 
them  than  if  you  had  plodded  on  without  cessation 

or  relaxation. 

* 


A    WESTERN    TRIP. 

October,  1855. 

]HEN  we  first  visited  the  West,  in  1834,  there 
was  but  one  single  strip  of  railroad  in  the 
whole  country  west  of  the  Hudson,  and 
that  was  between  Albany  and  Schenectady. 
We  thought  ourselves  fortunate  in  reaching  Cincin 
nati  in  ten  days  from  New  York.  But  now  we  leave 
New  York  at  6.30  (to  use  the  new  railroad  idiom) 
on  Monday,  and  expect  to  take  supper  in  Chicago  on 
Tuesday  evening.  The  only  difference  between  ex 
pectation  and  realization  was,  that  we  arrived  on 
Wednesday  forenoon,  being  out  two  nights  instead 
of  one.  We  missed  the  connection  at  Toledo,  and 
so  our  delay  arose. 

The  cars  on  the  Erie  road  were  crowded  more  than 
we  ever  before  saw  them,  giving  sign  that  people  are 
recovering  from  their  absurd  prejudices  against  this 
most  comfortable  of  all  roads.  But  though  every 
place  be  filled,  the  cars  cannot,  after  all,  be  said  to 
be  crowded,  so  spacious  are  the  wide  seats. 

We  went  through  the  usual  experience  of  travel 
lers.  We  talked  till  our  throats  ached,  for  we  were 
fortunate  in  having  Dr.  Bellows,  of  New  York,  as  a 
companion.  We  thumbed  the  guide-book,  and  reck- 


A   WESTERN   TRIP.  97 

oned  how  far  we  had  come,  and  how  far  it  yet  was 
to  Dunkirk.  We  got  out  at  wood  and  water  stations, 
and  saluted  the  engine,  and  bought  apples  of  the 
boys,  and  ran  down  banks  for  asters,  golden-rod,  and 
purple  beech-leaves,  and  scampered  back  again  fast 
as  feet  could  carry  us,  when  the  whistle  began,  like 
a  fretting  old  woman,  to  scold  and  scream  that  they 
would  leave  us  if  we  did  not  come  back  instantly. 
But  we  were  always  too  nimble  for  the  engine,  whose 
speed  is  not  in  its  start  where  ours  is.  At  eleven 
o'clock  at  night  Dunkirk  was  reached.  We  had  the 
huge,  dreary,  chilly  depot  as  a  waiting-place  till  the 
Buffalo  cars  came  in.  They  were  late.  They  were 
yet  later  when  we  started  for  Cleveland,  and  more 
than  two  hours  behind  time  when  we  reached  that 
city  in  the  morning,  after  a  night's  sleep  in  the  cars  ; 
which  made  you  think  that  you  were  a  kaleidoscope, 
and  at  every  jolt  and  turn  new  and  ridiculous  com 
binations  were  taking  place  in  the  fragments  of  your 
internal  being,  and  one  looks  back  on  the  contents 
of  such  a  night  as  upon  a  wild  hallucination.  But 
if  the  night  was  disturbed,  what  was  the  screaming 
tumult  of  the  morning  at  the  Cleveland  depot  ?  Bells 
ringing,  gongs  roaring,  porters  shouting,  passengers 
being  disgorged  by  hundreds,  with  wrinkled-up  chil 
dren,  squeezed  and  uncombed  and  unwashed.  The 
Cincinnati  train,  the  Toledo  train,  and  other  trains 
had  been  patiently  waiting  for  our  tardy  arrival ;  and 
the  locomotives  were  roaring  off  their  extra  steam, 
and  whistling  for  very  nervousness,  and  prancing 
about,  running  in  and  out,  just  to  keep  themselves 
from  blowing  up  with  mere  ill-humor  and  impatience. 
Meanwhile,  the  hand-trucks  were  changing  baggage, 


98  EYES   AND   EARS. 

» 

and  rattling,  with  huge  piles  of  luggage,  all  over  the 
depot. 

Is  there  anything  on  earth  so  much  to  be  pitied  as 
a  trunk  ?  What  awful  violence  it  suffers  in  packing  ; 
what  crowding  and  straining,  to  get  in  twice  as  much 
as  it  can  possibly  hold.  Then  comes  the  shutting, 
the  getting  on  the  lid,  the  jumping  and  jamming,  the 
red-faced  vexation  because  the  latch  will  not  quite 
catch,  the  final  triumph,  the  twirl  of  the  key,  the 
strapping  and  cover-fastening.  How  trying  to  weak 
human  nature  is  a  strap  and  buckle  !  You  pull  till 
the  blood  threatens  to  burst  from  your  head,  and  al 
most  bring  the  hole  up  to  the  buckle-tongue.  You 
give  it  a  quick  jerk  to  let  it  in,  but  it  only  springs 
back.  You  try  again,  and  lose  it  again,  and  your 
patience  with  it.  You  jerk,  and  protest,  and  will 
have  it  come  right.  At  length  you  propose  a  com 
promise,  and  cut  another  hole  in  the  strap  half-way  ; 
and  deceive  yourself  with  thinking  that  you  have  had 
your  own  way.  This  may  end  your  troubles,  but  it  is 
but  the  beginning  of  the  trunk's.  The  hackman  drops 
it ;  the  porter  slings  it  aboard.  The  baggage-master 
fires  it  into  the  heap  as  if  he  meant  to  make  it  strike 
fire.  At  night  it  is  to  be  changed  at  Dunkirk,  say. 
They  are  pitched  out  of  the  car  like  bombs.  Two  or 
three  employees  seem  possessed  with  very  spite  at 
them.  They  catch  them  by  the  handle,  give  them  a 
prodigious  twirl  on  one  end,  and  the  trunk  spins  like 
a  top  to  a  corner  of  the  baggage-space,  and  smashes 
up  against  its  fellows.  Again  at  Cleveland,  they  are 
sent  out  like  shot  from  the  cars,  piled  up  on  the 
trucks,  little  ones  at  the  bottom,  and  big  ones  at  the 
top,  some  are  smashed,  some  are  dented,  some  are 


A  WESTEKN  TRIP.  99 

ripped,  but  all  go  headlong  and  heterogeneously  into 
the  new  limbo  of  baggage.  It  is  very  interesting, 
•then,  to  examine  some  of  these  trunks,  which  a  kind 
aunt  has  labelled,  "  Please  lift  it  by  the  handles  "  ;  or, 
"  Keep  this  side  up."  One  might  as  well  put  a  label 
on  a  Paixhan  shot,  giving  directions  for  its  careful 
journey.  Well,  our  "  Crouch  and  Fitzgerald  "  trunk 
seemed  peculiarly  lucky.  It  had  the  knack  of  escaping 
contusion  and  abuse,  and  when  we  reached  Chicago, 
came  forth  from  its  canvas,  shining  like  a  new  one. 
But  we  look  on  it  as  a  miracle.  Nothing  would  have 
persuaded  us  that  such  an  escape  was  possible.  A 
mathematical  calculation  of  chances  would  make  the 
course  of  a  trunk  from  New  York  to  Chicago  to  be 
like  the  chances  of  grain  through  the  mill-stones. 
And  a  man  might  well  expect  to  receive,  at  the  end 
of  his  journey,  only  a  bag  of  dust  mixed  up  with 
fragments  of  leather  and  raiment. 

But  we  are  thankful  for  a  safe  reaching  of  this 
extraordinary  city  of  Chicago.  No  man  has  seen  the 
West  who  has  not  seen  Chicago.  Nature  has  done 
little  for  its  harbor,  and  government  has  done  less. 
The  ground  was  not  meant  for  a  city.  The  place  has 
no  adaptations  for  a  fine  city.  It  is  low,  flat,  muddy, 
or  dusty.  But  such  is  the  concentration  of  enormous 
business  here,  that  before  many  years  all  natural  dif 
ficulties  will  have  been  overcome.  The  grade  will  be 
raised  artficially ;  the  streets  paved  ;  the  sidewalks, 
now  of  wood,  converted  to  stone  ;  the  river  tunnelled  ; 
the  harbor  cleaned  out  and  enlarged,  and  the  whole 
river,  in  both  its  branches,  be  wharfed  in  and  lined 
with  lumber-yards  and  warehouses.  But  as  yet  Chi 
cago  is  anything  but  a  city  of  desirable  aspect  to  the 


100  EYES   AND  EARS. 

eye  or  the  feet.  It  would  seem  to  be  a  merchant's 
beau  ideal  of  paradise.  It  fairly  smokes  and  roars  with 
business.  There  is  no  room  for  the  caravans  of 
teams.  The  river  is  choked  with  craft,  and  the  harbor 
is  filled  with  vessels.  The  streets  are  filled  up  with 
boxes  and  bales,  the  stores  are  like  hives  in  spring 
weather,  with  swarms  going  in  and  out  with  incessant 
activity ;  —  buying  and  selling,  buying  and  selling, 
buying  and  selling,  —  that  is  Chicago.  The  merchant 
cannot  get  goods  from  the  East  fast  enough.  His  yes 
terday's  arrivals  are  gone  to-day,  or  picked  over  and 
made  thin.  The  warehouses  cannot  hold  the  grain ; 
the  shipping  cannot  convey  it  away  fast  enough ; 
and  demand,  on  every  side,  drives  up  the  business-men 
with  incessant  importunity.  Huge  hotels,  that  seem 
large  enough  to  accommodate  an  army,  were  running 
over ;  and  having  occasion  to  stop  a  moment  at  the 
Briggs  House,  we  found  the  hall  leading  to  the  dining- 
room  packed  with  scores  of  men,  though  yet  fifteen 
minutes  to  dinner,  waiting  for  the  opening  of  the  door. 
But  it  was  the  Agricultural  Fair  that  had,  without 
doubt,  made  such  a  terrific  crush  in  town,  during  the 
few  days  that  we  tarried  there. 

We  visited  the  grounds  of  the  Fair,  and  made  a 
rapid  inspection  of  stock,  products,  machinery,  fab 
rics,  and  men,  women,  and  children.  The  occasion 
was  very  creditable  to  the  managers.  While  examin 
ing  the  ploughs,  some  farmers,  supposing  that  we  were 
the  exhibitors,  asked  us  to  explain  the  operation  of 
one.  Fortunately,  it  was  the  double  Michigan  plow, 
and  we  knew  its  peculiarities.  Accordingly,  we  fell 
into  our  blandest  manner:  "Gentlemen,  this  is  an 
admirable  plough  !  We  will  suppose  that  a  furrow  has 


A  WESTERN  TRIP.  101 

been  opened  all  around  the  field  or  land.  When  this 
plough  sets  in,  the  first  share,  which  you  see  here,  takes 
some  four  to  six  inches  of  the  surface,  and  inverts  it 
into  the  furrow.  The  second  share  raises  some  ten  to 
twelve  inches  more  of  the  subsoil,  and  throws  it  upon 
the  surface  soil,  so  that  the  soil  is  exactly  reversed ; 
the  top  soil  is  turned  from  fifteen  to  twenty  inches, 
and  the  subsoil  is  brought  to  the  top.  This  will  not 
do  on  gravelly  and  shallow  soils.  But  when  you 
have  a  good  subsoil,  that  only  needs  air  and  mellow 
ing,  these  ploughs  are  admirable."  Having  got  safe 
ly  through  that  speech,  the  farmers  were  disposed 
to  enlarge  our  sphere,  and  asked  an  explanation  of 
several  other  inventions  and  machines  that  were  quite 
beyond  our  reach,  so  that  we  found  it  convenient  to 
slip  off,  and  leave  the  place,  while  our  reputation 
remained  good. 

Much  stock  changed  hands  on  the  ground,  and  at 
large  prices.  Our  only  purchases  were  of  two  potatoes 
of  a  South  American  kind,  and  a  bushel  of  Mexican 
ditto.  Likewise  we  procured  two  kinds  of  corn. 
With  these  our  zeal  closed. 

* 


102  EYES  AND   EARS. 


THE    LECTURE    SYSTEM. 

1855. 

HOSE  disconsolate  persons  who  live  in  dread 
of  every  breeze  that  brings  a  ripple  to  the 
surface  of  a  community,  and  who  have  been 
especially  afraid  of  this  system  of  popular 
lectures  which  has  so  suddenly  grown  up  and  into 
such  strength,  have  fresh  occasion  for  alarm.  The 
demand  for  lectures  was  never  so  strong  and  earnest 
as  now.  Feeding  does  not  satisfy  it.  The  number 
of  able  lecturers  every  year  increases.  The  arrange 
ments  for  lectures  have  assumed  something  of  the 
stability  of  institutions.  The  places  where  lectures 
have  prevailed  longest  are  the  very  ones  where  the 
interest  is  deepest.  It  must  be  given  up,  then,  as  a 
thing  past  recall,  and  lectures  will  henceforth  be 
ranked  as  a  part  of  our  necessities.  Is  there  no 
consolation  for  these  sad-eyed  and  disconsolate  per 
sons  ?  We  think  there  is,  and  much. 

Every  lecturer  has  an  opportunity  of  hearing  an 
expression  of  opinion  respecting  those  who  have  pre 
ceded  him,  and  I  have  been  struck  with  the  general 
truth  of  the  judgments  formed,  and  the  evidences 
afforded  of  good  sense  and  critical  sagacity  among  the 
common  people.  Men  find  their  level  in  this  walk  of 
life  as  much  as  in  the  professions.  The  people  are 
reasonably  content  with  plain  sense ;  they  are  better 
pleased  with  sound  sense  dressed  with  learning  or 
ample  experience.  If  to  this  is  added  wit  and  fancy, 
they  repay  all  that  with  proper  appreciation.  And 
if  the  whole  be  inspired  with  a  deep  moral  impulse, 


THE   LECTURE   SYSTEM.  103 

and  breathe  the  breath  of  a  noble  heart,  every  one 
recognizes  that  too. 

It  will  probably  be  the  testimony  of  all  who  lec 
ture,  that  every  year  audiences  grow  more  difficult. 
In  other  words,  every  winter's  course  educates  their 
critical  judgment  and  their  taste.  They  require  abler 
performances.  They  can  less  easily  be  imposed  upon 
by  brilliant  trick  or  learned  dulness.  And  we  were 
never  so  sure  as  now,  that  the  most  popular  lecturers 
are  those  who  deserve  to  be  so.  That  success  does 
not  depend  upon  superficial  glitter,  but  upon  in 
trinsic  merit.  Of  this  we  shall  speak  again  in  a 
moment. 

One  should  remember  that  a  lecture  is  but  just 
begun  when  the  lecturer  has  finished  its  delivery.  The 
audience  have  laughed  and  clapped,  glowed  or  wept, 
admired  or  yawned,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  social 
sympathy  has  carried  them  along  pretty  much  to 
gether.  Now  they  disperse.  They  begin  to  talk  on 
the  way  home.  The  father  and  mother  draw  the  chil 
dren  out,  to  know  how  much  they  heard,  and  what 
impression  was  produced  on  them ;  they  discuss  it, 
and  the  family  for  several  days  is  a  debating-society. 
Young  men  in  an  office,  clerks  in  a  store,  mechanics 
in  the  shop,  boys  in  the  academy,  all  overhaul  the 
lecture,  and  for  a  week  it  becomes  a  theme  of  reflec 
tion,  discussion,  and  active  criticism.  In  this  way 
one  lecture  controls  another.  If  a  lecture  is  but 
interesting  in  the  delivery,  and  full  of  mea,t  after 
wards  for  a  whole  week's  picking,  it  sits  in  judgment 
on  another  lecture,  brilliant  in  delivery,  but  leaving 
no  permanent  impressions,  no  questions,  no  facts,  no 
reasonings,  for  after-discussions.  It  does  not  take  a 


104  EYES  AND  EAKS. 

community  long  to  perceive  that  some  lectures  in 
struct  them  wearisomely,  that  some  instruct  and  in 
spire,  that  some  inspire  but  do  not  instruct,  that 
some,  like  fire-works,  are  magnificent  while  going  off 
and  nothing  afterwards,  and  others,  like  a  pomological 
show,  are  fine  in  the  exhibition,  and  very  juicy  and 
refreshing  afterwards.  What  else  is  there  in  our 
towns  and  villages  throughout  the  land  that  produces 
such  a  degree  of  pleasure  and  such  universal  mental 
excitement  ?  Is  it  better  to  have  young  people  at  balls 
and  dances,  or  at  convivial  gatherings  and  bar-rooms  ? 

It  is  often  said  that  popular  lectures  produce  super 
ficial  habits,  and  that,  instead  of  reading  and  reflec 
tion,  young  people  become  fascinated  with  easy  and 
brilliant  knowledge,  to  the  detriment  of  sober  and 
reflective  information.  This  may  be  true  in  single 
cases  ;  but  in  regard  to  the  greatest  number  who 
attend  lectures,  the  choice  is  not  between  knowledge 
judiciously  gathered  by  their  own  industry  and 
knowledge  superficially  got  from  a  lecture.  In  re 
spect  to  the  greatest  number,  it  is  true,  that,  if  they 
do  not  get  it  from  the  lecture,  they  will  not  have  it  at 
all.  And  the  real  question  is,  whether  it  is  better  for 
the  young  to  grow  up  without  general  knowledge,  or 
to  obtain  a  relish  for  it  from  lecturers. 

Not  long  since  we  read  a  captious  paragraph  in  a 
paper,  stating  that  Professor  So-and-so,  of  such  a  col 
lege,  had  gone  to  such  a  village,  and  but  a  handful 
came  to  hear  him ;  whereas  the  next  week,  Mr.  Bar- 
num  lectured  there,  and  the  house  could  not  contain 
the  crowds,  —  and  the  application  made  was,  that 
even  New  England  audiences  ran  after  chaff,  and  did 
not  care  for  wheat. 


THE  LECTURE  SYSTEM.  105 

But  is  this  a  fair  statement  ?  Did  the  writer  take 
pains  to  ascertain  what  opinion  was  formed  of  Mr. 
Barnum's  lecture  ;  whether  people  afterwards  were 
as  much  pleased,  as  before  they  were  curious  ?  Would 
they  go  again  in  such  numbers  ?  And,  on  the  other 
side,  did  Professor  So-and-so  have  any  previous  repu 
tation  in  that  village  which  should  draw  people  to 
hear  him  ?  Perhaps  they  had  heard  him  before,  and 
therefore  stayed  away.  We  have  heard  college  pro 
fessors  that  were  stupid,  even  to  genius  in  that  direc 
tion.  There  are  professors  in  colleges  with  gifts  at 
instructing  classes,  who  have  no  gifts  at  instructing 
promiscuous  audiences.  It  is  one  thing  to  lead  a 
class  along,  day  by  day,  opening  in  successive  parts  a 
large  subject,  and  another  to  project  a  subject,  group 
it  into  life  form,  and  set  it  forth  in  an  hour's  time,  so 
that  common  minds  can  grasp  it,  and  be  entertained 
withal.  But  if  our  disappointed  professor  was  all 
that  it  is  necessary  for  a  lecturer  to  be,  and  the  people 
did  not  come  to  hear  him,  he  is  in  the  condition  of 
every  young  man  before  the  public  find  him  out,  —  a 
probationer.  Let  him  go  again,  and  a  third  time,  and 
if  then  those  who  came  at  first  do  not  return,  and  few 
others  supply  their  place,  instead  of  charging  the  town 
with  stupidity,  might  he  not  better  undergo  a  process 
of  self-examination  ?  Sometimes  the  people  are  smart, 
and  the  lecturer  stupid.  We  are  speaking,  of  course, 
in  the  general ;  for  we  know  neither  the  person  named 
by  his  injudicious  friend  in  the  paragraph  alluded  to 
nor  the  circumstances  of  the  town.  And,  for  aught 
that  we  know,  next  year  Professor  So-and-so,  a  little 
roused  up,  will  prepare  a  living  lecture,  written  for 
people  that  are  not  students,  and  will  deliver  it  with 


106  EYES  AND  EARS. 

such  genial  animation,  that  everybody  will  say  that  it 
was  the  lecture  of  the  season,  and  then  the  intel 
ligence  and  appreciativeness  of  the  popular  mind  will 
go  up  above  par. 

TOWN-HALLS.  —  One  of  the  fruits  of  the  lecture  sys 
tem  is  seen  in  the  multiplication  of  admirable  town- 
halls.  Every  town  ought  to  have  a  good  hall  of  its  own 
for  popular  assemblies  and  for  town-meetings.  But 
such  reasons  would  wait  long  before  people  would  con 
sent  to  be  taxed  for  an  expensive  building.  But  once 
let  the  lecture  spirit  arise,  and  people  be  for  a  few 
seasons  crowded  into  a  court-room,  or  into  a  church, 
which  is  soon  shut  against  them,  (because  men  of 
doubtful  orthodoxy  are  invited  to  lecture,  or  because 
the  audience  •  laughed  and  clapped  the  speaker,  or  for 
a  far  better  and  more  justifiable  reason,  —  because 
men,  calling  themselves  gentlemen,  besmeared  the 
carpets  and  pews  with  filthy  tobacco-spit,)  and  the 
enterprise  of  a  town-hall  gains  favor,  and  one  or  two 
years  sees  it  built,  and  the  whole  town  proud  of  their 
public  spirit.  These  remarks  are  suggested  by  the 
new  building  just  erected  in  Hudson,  N.  Y.,  where 
we  are  now  writing.  Three  years  ago  we  lectured  in 
the  court-house ;  last  winter,  in  a  church ;  but  last 
night,  in  an  ample  and  admirable  town-hall,  which  is 
very  creditable  to  this  place. 

Ought  not  such  places  as  New  Haven,  Bridgeport, 
Hartford,  Springfield,  Poughkeepsie,  to  have  public 
halls  bearing  some  relation  to  the  taste  and  public 
spirit  of  the  citizens  ? 

VENTILATION.  —  If  they  do,  will  they  not  procure 
one  thing,  —  a  supply  of  air.  It  is  astonishing  that 
God  should  have  set  such  an  example  before  us,  and 


THE  LECTURE   SYSTEM.  107 

provided  such  wondrous  abundance  of  air,  and  men 
take  no  hint  from  it  of  the  prime  necessity  of  this 
substance  for  health,  brightness,  and  enjoyment.  Al 
most  without  a  single  exception,  new  halls  and  old 
ones  are  unventilated.  The  committee  will  point  you 
to  an  auger-hole  in  some  corner  of  the  ceiling,  and  tell 
you  that  arrangements  have  been  made  for  ventila 
tion  !  You  might  as  well  insert  a  goose-quill  in  a 
dam  to  supply  all  Lowell  with  water  for  its  mills  ! 
These  contemptible  little  holes,  hardly  big  enough  for 
a  fat  rat  to  run  in  without  disarranging  his  sleek  fur, 
are  hardly  enough  for  one  breather,  and  they  are  set 
to  do  the  work  of  a  thousand  people  !  Besides,  no 
provision  is  made  for  the  introduction  of  fresh  air 
from  below,  to  supply  the  place  of  that  which  is  sup 
posed  to  pass  off.  The  air-trunk  of  furnaces  ought  to 
be  double  the  usual  size,  and  the  hot-air  trunks  that 
lead  from  the  furnace-chamber  to  the  room  should  be 
four  times  as  large  as  is  usual,  so  that  large  volumes 
of  mild  air  can  come  in,  instead  of  fierce  currents  of 
intensely  hot  air,  out  of  which  the  moisture  has  been 
driecf,  and  the  oxygen  burnt,  by  contact  with  a  red- 
hot  furnace.  A  room  that  will  seat  a  thousand  per 
sons  should  have  not  less  than  four  ventiducts,  each 
one  of  them  larger  than  a  man's  whole  body.  They 
can  be  placed  at  the  four  corners  of  the  building  ;  or 
they  may  be  arranged  along  the  sides  of  the  wall,  the 
number  being  increased  as  the  diameter  of  each  is 
diminished.  But  the  square  inches  of  the  mouths  of 
the  ventiducts  should  be  at  least  one  third  greater  than 
of  the  mouths  of  the  heat-trunks  which  come  from  the 
furnace. 

As  soon  as  a  speaker  begins,  he  usually  finds  his 


108  EYES   AND  EARS. 

cheek  flushed,  his  head  full  and  throbbing.  Bad  air 
is  at  work  with  him.  The  blood  that  is  going  to  his 
brain  has  not  been  purified  in  his  lungs  by  contact 
with  good  air.  It  has  a  diminished  stimulating  power. 
It  is  the  first  stage  of  suffocation  ;  for  all  that  is  done, 
when  a  man  is  hung,  is  to  prevent  the  passage  of  air 
down  his  windpipe  ;  and  if  you  corrupt  the  air  till  it 
ceases  to  perform  a  vital  function,  it  is  the  same  thing 
in  effect ;  so  that  a  public  speaker,  in  a  tainted  atmos 
phere,  is  going  through  a  prolonged  process  of  at 
mospheric  hanging. 

The  people,  too,  instantly  show  signs  of  distress. 
Women  begin  to  fan  themselves;  children  grow 
sleepy;  and  well-fed  men  grow  red  and  somnolent. 
How  people  can  consent  to  breathe  each  others'  breath 
over  and  over  and  over  again,  we  never  could  im 
agine.  They  would  never  return  to  a  hotel  where 
they  were  put  into  a  bed  between  sheets  that  had  been 
used  by  travellers  before  them,  —  no,  they  must  have 
fresh  sheets.  They  would  go  without  food  rather 
than  eat  off  a  plate  used  by  several  parties  before 
them.  Clean,  fresh  plates  are  indispensable.  *But, 
while  so  delicate  of  their  outside  skin  and  their 
mouth,  they  will  take  air  into  their  lungs  that  has 
been  breathed  over  twenty  times,  by  all  sorts  of  per 
sons,  and  that  fairly  reeks  with  feculence  ;  and  nothing 
disgusts  them  but  a  proposal  to  open  a  window,  and 
let  in  clean  and  fresh  air.  That  brings  up  coat- 
collars,  and  brings  down  scowls,  and  amiable  lips 
pout,  and  kind  tongues  declare  that  they  will  not  go 
to  such  a  place  again,  if  they  do  not  have  these  mat 
ters  regulated  better  for  the  health  ! 

* 


HOME  KEVISITED.  109 


HOME    REVISITED. 

BAYING  Chicago  a  second  time,  we  rode  all 
night  toward  Indianapolis,  Ind.  It  was 
strange  to  make  in  a  single  night,  with  ease, 
a  journey  which  used  to  require  four  hard 
days'  riding  in  the  best  season  of  the  year !  Leaving 
Michigan  City  at  a,bout  eleven  at  night,  we  reached 
our  former  home  at  seven  in  the  morning.  There 
can  be  no  place  so  memorable  to  our  after  years  as 
that  in  which  we  began  life,  and  received  our  first 
development.  This  is  true,  whatever  a  man's  calling 
may  be  ;  but  there  is  that  in  a  pastor's  office  which 
gives  peculiar  interest  to  all  his  first  efforts. 

There  stands  yet  that  academy,  in  the  second  story 
of  which  we  first  preached  on  settling  in  Indianapolis. 
It  would  hold  scarcely  more  than  one  hundred.  The 
first  sermon  there  is  as  vivid  a  picture  to-day  as  it  was 
at  the  time.  The  persons  present,  the  transient  ex 
pressions  which  the  faces  wore  during  the  exercises, 
their  dress,  and  the  little  incidents,  —  as  where  an 
old  man  put  his  cane,  the  knocking  over  a  pile  of 
hats,  the  crying  of  a  child,  —  we  see  them  all  now  in 
memory,  more  distinctly  than  we  were  conscious  of 
seeing  them  at  the  time.  In  this  room  we  preached 
the  first  real  sermon  that  we  ever  uttered.  We  had 
delivered  hundreds  before,  but  till  then,  the  sermon 
was  the  end  and  not  the  means.  We  had  a  vague 
idea  that  truth  was  to  be  preached,  and  that  then  it 
was  to  be  left  to  do  its  work  iinder  God's  blessing  as 
best  it  might.  The  results  were  not  satisfying.  Why 
should  not  preaching  do  now  what  it  did  in  the  Apos- 


110  EYES  AND  EARS. 

ties'  days  ?  Why  should  it  be  a  random  and  unre 
quited  effort  ?  These  thoughts  grew,  and  the  want 
of  fruits  was  so  painful,  that  we  determined  to  make 
a  careful  examination  of  the  Apostles'  preaching,  to 
see  what  it  was  that  made  it  so  immediately  efficient. 
We  found  that  they  laid  a  foundation  first  of  histori 
cal  truth,  common  to  them  and  their  auditors  ;  that 
this  mass  of  familiar  truth  was  then  concentrated  upon 
the  hearers  in  the  form  of  an  intense  personal  appli 
cation  and  appeal ;  that  the  language  was  not  philo 
sophical  and  scholastic,  but  the  language  of  common 
life:  We  determined  to  try  the  same.  We  consid 
ered  what  moral  truths  were  admitted  by  everybody, 
and  gathered  many  of  them  together.  We  considered 
how  they  could  be  so  combined  as  to  press  men  to 
ward  a  religious  state.  We  recalled  to  mind  the  char 
acter  and  condition  of  many  who  we  knew  would  be 
present,  and  then,  after  as  earnest  a  prayer  as  we  ever 
offered,  and  with  trembling  solicitude,  we  went  to  the 
academy  and  preached  the  new  sermon.  The  Lord 
gave  it  power,  and  ten  or  twelve  persons  were  aroused 
by  it,  and  led  ultimately  to  a  religious  life. 

This  was  the  most  memorable  day  of  our  ministerial 
life.  The  idea  was  born.  Preaching  was  a  definite 
and  practical  thing.  Our  people  needed  certain  moral 
changes.  Preaching  was  only  a  method  of  enforcing 
truths,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  truths  themselves,  but 
for  the  results  to  be  sought  in  men.  Man  was  the 
thing.  Henceforth  our  business  was  to  work  upon 
man;  to  study  him,  to  stimulate  and  educate  him. 
A  sermon  was  good  that  had  power  on  the  heart,  and 
was  good  for  nothing,  no  matter  how  good,  that  had 
no  moral  power  on  man.  Others  had  learned  this. 


HOME  REVISITED.  Ill 

It  was  the  secret  of  success  in  every  man  who  ever 
was  eminent  for  usefulness  in  preaching.  But  no 
man  can  inherit  experience.  It  must  be  born  in  each 
man  for  himself.  After  the  light  dawned,  I  could 
then  see  how  plainly  Jonathan  Edwards's  sermons  were 
so  made.  Those  gigantic  applications  of  his  were  only 
the  stretching  out  of  the  arms  of  the  sermon  upon 
the  hearts  and  lives  of  his  audience.  I  could  see  it 
now,  and  wondered  that  I  had  not  seen  it  before. 
But  having  caught  the  idea,  I  went  eagerly  through 
Edwards  to  see  how  he  took  aim.  I  found  his  ser 
mons  to  be  either  a  statement  and  establishment  of  a 
plain  principle,  or  an  exceedingly  abundant  collection 
of  Scriptural  teachings  around  some  great  central 
truth.  This  was  not,  however,  the  sermon  ;  it  was 
only  a  battery  thrown  up.  The  guns  were  in  place. 
The  cannonading  was  yet  to  come  on.  Then  from 
these  bulwarks  and  batteries  came  a  fire  upon  the 
life,  the  hearts,  the  character,  the  conduct,  of  liv 
ing  men,  just  as  they  lived  in  Edwards's  days,  such 
I  think  as  no  uninspired  man  ever  surpassed,  if  any 
ever  equalled  it.  It  was  a  kind  of  moral  inquisition, 
and  sinners  were  put  upon  argumentative  racks,  and 
beneath  screws,  and,  with  an  awful  revolution  of  the 
great  truth  in  hand,  evenly  and  steadily  screwed  down 
and  crushed.  I  never  could  read  that  sermon,  "  Sin 
ners  in  the  hands  of  an  angry  God"  at  one  sitting. 
I  think  a  person  of  moral  sensibility  alone  at  mid 
night,  reading  that  awful  discourse,  would  wellnigh 
go  crazy.  He  would  hear  the  judgment-trump,  and 
see  the  advancing  heaven,  and  the  day  of  doom  would 
begin  to  mantle  him  with  its  shroud. 

But  we   have   wandered,  —  not   exactly  wandered 


112  EYES  AND   EARS. 

Cither,  —  for  the  Book  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles 
and  Edwards's  Sermons  were  the  two  masters  at 
whose  feet  we  sat  while  learning  that  preaching  is 
only  another  name  for  taking  hold  of  men  and 
moulding  them.  This  was  sixteen  years  ago.  What 
a  crowded  memory  rose  up  through  all  that  period  ! 
Children  are  men,  men  are  turned  to  spirits.  Al 
most  every  house  I  met  sprung  out  to  me  with  a 
memory.  In  that  one,  I  remember  an  only  daugh 
ter's  funeral,  her  mother  a  widow.  The  first  chil 
dren  baptized  in  the  Academy  room  were  twins ;  one 
is  grown  nearly  to  manhood  on  earth,  the  other 
quite,  but  in  heaven.  The  mother  that  was  broken 
hearted  has  gone  thither  after  her  children.  The 
eldest  daughter  has  mounted  thitherward,  rejoicing 
too. 

There  was  the  church  building,  almost  every  nail 
of  which  we  saw  driven.  We  did  not  see  simply  the 
church  made  with  hands,  but  the  church  of  souls. 
In  the  semi-subterranean  lecture-room  what  glorious 
scenes  were  enacted !  We  went  thither  and  sat 
down  in  the  old  place,  and  called  back  the  former 
times ;  we  saw  the  faces  again ;  we  labored  again, 
and  prayed  again,  and  wept  again.  For  the  trance 
was  complete,  and  we  lived  in  the  ten  years  ago.  It 
did  not  seem  that  we  had  been  away.  It  seemed  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to  begin  just  where 
we  left  off,  —  to  take  up  the  thread  and  stitch  just 
where  we  laid  them  down. 

In  the  church  on  Sabbath  morning  how  strangely 
were  the  real  and  the  unreal  blended !  Each  face 
that  we  saw  flashed  upon  us  the  whole  history  of 
the  man.  This  one  was  converted  in  such  a  year. 


HOME  REVISITED.  113 

We  remembered  the  first  time  he  spoke  to  us,  where 
we  were,  just  what  he  said,  our  own  silent  thought, 
the  whole  progress  and  issue  of  the  case.  Mothers 
were  there  with  their  little  children,  whom  we  had 
carried  as  little  girls.  But  many  were  not  there. 
Some  made  shipwreck;  some  by  faith  have  inherited 
the  promises. 

On  Monday  we  walked  the  streets,  searching  out 
the  old  places.  The  ten-acre  pasture  near  our  little 
dwelling  is  now  a  nest  of  houses  checkered  with 
streets.  The  places  where  we  searched  for  quails 
will  never  see  wild  game  abound  again.  Poage's 
Run  is  now  cut  and  shaped,  and  walled  in  and 
bridged,  until  its  old  acquaintances  do  not  know  it, 
even  if  it  knows  itself.  There  was  not  a  tree  that 
had  not  its  story  to  tell.  Every  street  had  a  claim 
upon  memory.  The  former  houses  were  written  over 
within  and  without,  like  record-books.  The  kind 
citizens,  rejoicing  in  the  growth  and  prosperity  of 
their  city,  naturally  wished  that  I  should  see  the 
new  things.  I  turned  away.  It  was  the  old  things 
that  I  cared  for.  There  was  no  tongue  in  the  new. 
But  the  old  spoke,  and  told  me,  if  not  "  all  that  ever 
I  did,"  yet  a  good  deal  of  it.  As  I  left  the  place,  in 
my  very  soul  I  felt  what  the  Psalmist  meant  when 
>he  said,  "Peace  be  within  thy  walls,  and  prosperity 
within  thy  palaces.  For  my  brethren  and  compan 
ions'  sakes,  I  will  now  say,  Peace  be  within  thee." 

By  the  favor  of  influential  friends,  I  was  allowed 
the  privileges  of  the  road  when  I  took  the  cars  for 
Lawrenceburg  and  Cincinnati.  I  therefore  deter 
mined  to  go  upon  the  locomotive,  the  better  to  see 
the  ground  over  which,  or  rather  through  which,  in 


114  EYES  AND  EARS. 

earlier  years  I  had  waded  wearily  on  horseback.  No 
man  knows  anything  of  mud  until  he  has  lived  in 
the  West.  Three  days'  to  Cincinnati,  in  my  day, 
was  good  travelling.  Now  about  four  hours  is  re 
quired  ! 

Mounted  on  the  engine,  I  rode  in  triumph  over  the 
swamps,  across  the  corduroy  roads,  along  the  black, 
deep  river-bottoms  that  used  to  have  such  terrors.  I 
gloried  over  them.  I  could  not  help  fancying  that 
there  was  a  subdued  look  to  the  roads  and  rails,  as  if 
they  felt  that  they  were  conquered  and  humbled. 

Thus  ended  the  pleasant  part  of  our  Western  trip. 

* 


HOW    TO    WAKE    IN    THE    MORNING. 

]ETTING  up  early  is  venerable.  Since  there 
has  been  a  literature  or  a  history,  the  habit 
of  early  rising  has  been  recommended  for 
health,  for  pleasure,  and  for  business.  The 
ancients  are  held  up  to  us  for  examples.  But  they 
lived  so  far  to  the  east,  and  so  near  the  sun,  that  it 
was  much  easier  for  them  than  for  us.  People  in 
Europe  always  get  up  several  hours  before  we  do  ; 
people  in  Asia  several  hours  before  the  Europeans  do  ; 
and  we  suppose  as  men  go  toward  the  sun  it  gets 
easier  and  easier,  until  somewhere  in  the  Orient 
probably  they  step  out  of  bed  involuntarily,  or,  like 
a  flower  blossoming,  they  find  their  bed-clothes  gently 
opening  and  turning  back,  by  the  mere  attraction  of 
light. 


HOW   TO   WAKE   IN   THE   MOKNING.  115 

But  as  far  toward  sundown  as  we  are,*the  matter 
becomes  more  difficult.  Expedients  of  every  kind 
are*  resorted  to.  Some  men  have  heads  with  the 
organ  of  Time  so  largely  developed,  that  they  have 
only  to  select  the  hour,  fix  attention  upon  it,  and 
then,  as  it  were,  wind  up  their  minds,  and  sure  enough 
off  they  go  at  the  appointed  time.  We  have  tried 
this  with  success  ourselves.  But  it  induces  a  habit 
of  waking  up  every  half-hour  through  the  night,  to 
see  whether  it  is  time  to  wake  up  finally. 

Alarm-clocks  are  very  good,  provided  they  do  not 
stop,  and  do  go  off.  But  if  there  is  one  day  in  the 
year  on  which  the  machine  fails,  it  will  be  that  very 
day  that,  of  all  others,  it  was  necessary  for  you  to 
start  early. 

Servants  are  much  relied  upon  for  waking  you  up 
in  hotels  and  at  friends'  houses.  But  of  course  they 
oversleep  on  that  very  morning  when  you  must  get 
the  early  train,  or  lose  all  the  connections,  and  half  a 
dozen  appointments.  And  of  course,  too,  everybody 
says,  "  How  surprising  that  the  servant  did  not  wake ! 
Was  never  known  to  miss  before.  Always  had  been 
reliable  !  " 

We  have  found  one  plan  of  waking  to  be  very  effec 
tive.  Let  one  preach  a  rousing  sermon  over  night, 
become  thoroughly  excited,  and  he  will  wake  early 
enough  the  next  morning.  We  never  miss  Monday 
morning,  whatever  may  be  the  fate  of  other  days. 

The  indefatigable  E.  M.,  —  whose  observations  of 
weather  have  made  him  renowned,  and  whose  re 
ports  have  given  to  newspapers  quite  a  set  of  weather- 
phrases, —  has  been  in  the  habit  for  years  of  mak 
ing  hourly  observations  of  the  thermometer,  day  and 


116  EYES  AND   EARS. 

night.  Of  "course,  the  waking  at  night  was  an  im 
portant  part  of  the  business.  He  was  the  lucky  owner 
of  a  dog  that  sympathized  with  his  master,  and  di 
vided  the  labor  with  him.  For  the  intelligent  little 
fellow,  every  time  the  clock  struck  at  night,  would 
spring  up  and  scratch  at  his  master's  door,  till  E.  M. 
came  forth.  Such  nocturnal  labors  at  length  wore 
out  his  constitution,  and  science  mourns  the  departed 
martyr  of  thermometric  zeal  and  broken  rest. 

Good  healthy  children,  that  are  put  to  bed  at  night 
when  birds  and  chickens  retire,  are  admirable  waken- 
ers  in  the  morning.  When  they  have  slept  their  sleep 
full,  there  is  no  help  for  you.  Wake  they  will,  coo 
and  frolic  they  will.  All  your  hushing  and  humming 
are  vain.  Your  efforts  to  put  them  to  sleep  only 
serve  to  wake  you  up  !  A  bouncing  boy,  a  year  old, 
creeping  out  of  his  crib  slyly,  and  pouncing  upon  his 
father's  face,  with  chirp  and  chuckle,  is  better  than 
any  alarm-clock.  A  clock  will  soon  run  out  its 
cacophonous  rattle,  but  a  child  never  runs  down, 
or  ends  his  fun. 

But  we  have  discovered  a  new  method  of  waking 
early.  Perched  up  upon  our  green  hill-slope  beyond 
Peekskill,  we  have  found  it  difficult  to  sleep  after 
about  four  o'clock  of  summer  mornings.  For  a 
countless  multitude  of  birds,  in  all  the  trees  and 
shrubbery,  aim  their  notes  at  us  with  such  sweet 
archery,  that  we  are  pierced  through  and  through 
with  the  silver  arrows  of  music.  It  is  in  vain  that 
you  wrap  the  pillows  about  your  ears  !  It  is  vain 
for  you  to  reflect  that  you  need  sleep,  and  will  not 
get  up.  Every  one  knows  that  an  effort  of  will  suf 
ficient  to  resist  the  annoying  or  attractive  sound 


HOW  TO  WAKE  IN  THE  MORNING.  117 

is  itself  the  end  of  sleep.  While  we  are  resisting, 
we  are  wakening.  Thus,  this  very  morning,  all  the 
trees  about  our  little  old  house  were  belfries,  and 
rang  out  more  chimes  than  were  ever  heard  at  Co 
logne  or  Antwerp.  And,  after  the  first  recognition, 
we  turned  resolutely  to  the  wall,  determined  to  sleep 
on.  But  "  That  's  a  robin,"  said  our  ears ;  and 
"  That  's  a  bobolink,"  — "  There  goes  a  wren  "  ;  and 
sparrows,  larks,  phoebes,  catbirds,  and  many  of  their 
cousins  in  the  orchard  and  woods,  all  joined  to  laugh 
us  out  of  the  idea  of  sleeping.  Now,  if  any  one 
wishes  to  know  how  to  get  up  early,  we  will  tell 
him.  Go  out  of  the  city  early  in  the  day.  Seek 
some  tranquil  place  in  the  country  where  guns  are 
never  heard,  where  fruit-trees  and  shade-trees  abound, 
and  where  the  shaking  of  the  leaf,  or  the  distant  crow 
of  dianticleer,  is  the  loudest  sound  ever  heard,  except 
of  birds.  And  then,  after  walking  all  day  among  the 
fields  and  hills  and  forests,  and  supping  upon  milk 
that  never  dreamed  of  a  city-milkman,  go  to  bed  by 
nine  o'clock.  If  you  do  not  wake  before  five  the  next 
morning,  report  your  case  to  us,  and  we  will  make 
a  fresh  prescription. 

* 


118  EYES  AND   EARS. 

LETTER    FROM    THE    COUNTRY. 

OFFICE  EDITORS  OF  THE  INDEPENDENT  :  — 

|E AR  SIRS  :  —  Do  you  own  a  cow  ?  Every 
good  man  ought  to.  For  a  cow  is  the  saint 
of  the  barn-yard.  Not  one  of  those  final 
saints,  who  are  born  afar  off  from  goodness, 
and  fight  their  way  to  it,  but  one  of  those  mild,  meek, 
harmless,  natural  saints.  If  homeliness  is  necessary 
to  goodness  (and  there  is  a  strong  presumption  for 
the  theory),  a  cow  has  this  prime  qualification.  For 
nothing  can  well  be  more  devoid  of  all  beauty  than 
a  genuine  milker.  There  is  not  one  line  of  beauty. 
There  is  not  one  limb  that  seems  to  have  regard  for 
another.  The  muscles  are  thin,  the  shoulders*  and 
neck  flat  and  poor,  the  hind  quarters  wide  across  and 
gaunt,  and  the  whole  form  is  meagre,  lathy,  and  pov 
erty-stricken.  But  when  we  reflect  that  all  this  comes 
from  a  cow's  benevolence,  and  that  she  eats,  rumi 
nates,  digests,  and,  in  short,  lives,  for  the  sake  of  oth 
ers,  our  sense  of  her  benevolence  at  length  clothes  her 
with  a  kind  of  moral  beauty.  She  could  be  fat  if  she 
would  only  be  selfish.  But  she  economizes  beauty, 
that  she  may  be  profuse  in  milk.  Blessed'  saint !  And 
yet,  in  all  the  symbolism  of  saints,  we  do  not  remem 
ber  a.  single  instance  in  which  the  cow  is  advanced 
to  signify  anything  in  holy  figure.  Bulls  and  oxen, 
sheep  and  lambs,  and  holy  rams,  abound  in  pictorial 
legends.  Lions  and  bears,  dragons  and  eagles,  ser 
pents,  bees,  doves  in  endless  repetition,  stags,  horses, 
crowing  cocks,  falcons,  ravens,  wild  geese,  fish,  dogs, 


LETTER   FROM   THE   COUNTRY.  119 

and  wild  boars,  and  we  know  not  how  many  other 
creatures  that  swim,  or  fly,  or  walk,  or  creep,  have  been 
made  glorious  in  stone  and  wood  and  paint,  for  some 
sake  or  other  of  the  great  multitude  of  saints  whom 
the  books'  record.  But  this  noblest  symbol  of  all,  the 
very  ideal  and  pattern  of  a  saint,  who  is  as  poor  as 
if  living  a  life  of  maceration,  who  gives  her  whole 
strength  to  lacteal  benevolence,  who  is  patient,  gentle, 
guileless,  contented,  —  and  yet,  with  two  exceptions, 
no  saint  can  be  found  (by  us,  at  least)  with  a  cow. 
These  two  saints  are  St.  Ello  and  St.  Perpetua.  The 
second  has  wild  cows  by  her  side,  and  the  first  has 
cows  with  oxen  about  her.  Let  dairymen  pay  respect 
to  the  shadowy  memory  of  St.  Ello  and  St.  Perpetua. 

If  we  were  to  speak  of  the  musical  voice  of  a  cow, 
people  would  laugh.  But  the  sound  will  depend  upon 
circumstances.  Let  a  man  be  lost  in  the  woods,  and 
suffer  the  terrible  excitement  which  comes  with  the 
first  flash  of  conviction  that  he  is  lost;  let  him  dash 
wildly  forth,  and  after  an  hour's  running  and  hoarse 
hallooing,  find  that  he  has  only  swept  a  circle  and 
come  back  to  the  very  spot  from  which  he  started ; 
let  him,  toward  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  weary, 
famished,  and  yet  wandering,  hear  the  low  of  cows 
not  far  off!  No  trumpet  was  ever  so  sweet  on  the 
march,  and  no  lute  ever  charmed  a  lover  with  more 
delight  than  this  uplifted  sound  of  a  cow  to  a  wood- 
sick  man.  And  when,  running  to  the  sound,  he 
comes  out  near  some  farm-house,  if  tears  gush,  and 
he  would  fain  even  throw  his  arms  around  the  neck 
of  homely  old  brindle,  let  no  one  laugh  or  deride. 
Go  and  try  the  experiment,  and  see  if  you  would  not 
do  it  yourself!  Besides,  the  face  of  a  cow  is  hand- 


120  EYES  AND  EARS. 

some.  It  is  the  only  thing  about  her  that  is  beauti 
ful,  except  by  association  ! 

But  we  need  not  go  to  all  the  trouble  of  being  lost 
to  reach  the  conclusion  that  a  cow  has  a  musical 
voice.  Sitting  on  a  summer  evening  on  the  sward, 
under  the  high,  pendent  elms,  only  enough  conscious 
of  being  in  the  body  to  receive  through  it  the  most 
ineffable  sense  of  the  beauty  of  sights  and  sounds,  and 
then,  while  birds  are  carrying  the  alto,  and  bees  are 
making  tenor,  let  the  long  and  repeated  low  of  cows 
coming  home,  and  longing  for  their  calves,  rise  as  a 
bass,  and  tell  me  whether  a  cow  has  not  a  musical 
voice ! 

If  one  is  of  a  devout  turn,  and  would  like  some 
Scriptural  associations,  we  can  almost  give  him  some. 
For,  although  oxen  it  was  that  were  about  the  man 
ger,  according  to  all  pictures,  yet  cows  are  the  moth 
ers  of  oxen.  We  read,  too,  in  Scripture  of  "  the  pure 
milk  of  the  Word "  ;  and  the  qualifying  adjective 
would  seem  to  imply  that  teachers  in  those  days  imi 
tated  the  milkmen  of  ours,  and  gave  a  diluted  article. 
From  this  great  company  of  patient  creatures,  let  us 
mention  a  few  more  eminent,  such  as  St.  Alderney, 
St.  Ayrshire,  St.  Durham,  and  St.  Homebreed.  These 
are  the  most  illustrious  of  milk-saints.  But  goodness 
is  not  confined  to  any  of  these  denominations.  There 
are  capacious  udders,  patient  dispositions,  mild-eyed 
mothers,  home-loving  and  pasture-browsing  saints, 
without  name  and  fame,  in  every  neighborhood. 

And  now,  do  you  ask,  wondering  reader,  what  all 
this  preludes?  Just  this:  that  we  are  a  three-cow 
gentleman-farmer !  Again,  we  know  what  is  the  real 
taste  of  milk.  We  have  once  more,  before  we  die, 


LETTER   FROM   THE   COUNTRY.  121 

seen  cream !  Twenty-six  pans  of  milk  were  skimmed 
this  very  morning ;  and  now,  if  you  were  riding  past, 
you  should  see  twenty-six  inverted  pans  011  the  fence, 
in  the  sun,  shining  like  silver,  and  sweetening  them 
selves  all  day,  in  the  air  and  sunshine,  for  the  night's 
milk  !  Even  the  pigs  fare  better  here  than  citizens  do 
in  New  York.  For  although  we  take  off  the  cream, 
we  never  think  of  giving  them  anything  weaker  than 
skim-milk !  —  four  pigs,  that  once  were  longer  than 
broad,  but  which  are  rapidly  growing  to  the  shape  of 
a  marble. 

And  now,  having  given  this  introduction,  it  may  be 
expected  that  we  shall  go  on  to  make  some  sound 
practical  remarks  about  feeding,  milking,  making 
cheese  and  butter.  And  so  we  could  if  we  chose  »to. 
And  so  we  will,  perhaps,  by  and  by.  But  now  we 
shall  close  by  holding  up  the  cow  to  all  persons,  as  a 
model  of  disinterested  benevolence  not  only,  but  as 
an  instance  of  its  reward.  For  though  the  homeliest 
creature  on  the  farm,  such  is  the  effect  upon  the  im 
agination  of  real  goodness,  that  at  length,  by  associa 
tion,  men  come  to  think  a  cow  handsome.  And  thus 
it  will  be  with  all  of  us  plain,  common,  and  homely 
people.  Let  us  do  well  until  our  neighbors  see  our 
characters  rather  than  our  faces ;  and  then,  though 
born  without  beauty,  we  shall  die  handsome. 

The  looking-glass  may  say  what  it  pleases.  The 
heart  of  friends  is  the  mirror  of  good  men.  And  in 
that  glass  we  shall  be  beautiful  enough,  if  we  are 
good  enough ! 

* 


122  EYES   AND   EARS. 


WEEDS    IN    PICTURES. 

WEED  is  said  to  be  "  a  plant  out  of  place." 
An  excellent  definition ;  for  what  is  there, 
when  appropriately  placed,  that  deserves 
this  name  for  vexatious  worthlessness  ?  But 
a  weed  is  often  in  its  very  place  when  well  painted. 
'We  have  learned  to  look  upon  many  vegetable  repro 
bates  with  an  eye  of  favor.  Some  weeds  are  exquis 
itely  beautiful  in  structure,  in  flower,  or  in  leaf-forms, 
when  closely  examined.  The  habits  of  others  make 
them  subjects  of  great  interest.  We  recollect  once, 
while  standing  with  one  of  the  first  landscape  artists 
of  America,  before  one  of  Baddington's  views  of  the 
Thames,  whose  banks  were  clothed  (pictorially)  with 
magnificent  aquatic  plants,  being  surprised  to  hear 
him  say,  that  in  America  we  had  few  large,  succulent 
plants  fit  for  an  artist  among  our  native  weeds.  Since 
that  time  we  have  never  gone  into  any  meadow  or 
field  without  noticing  the  plants  as  subjects  of  por 
traiture.  And  I  feel  sure  that  there  can  be  no  ex 
cuse  for  barrenness  in  the  foregrounds  of  landscapes 
from  want  of  material.  It  is  the  want  of  industry,  or 
the  want  of  real  love  for  weed-like  plants,  that  occa 
sions  such  meagre  or  conventional  pictures.  It  is 
seldom  that  we  see  plants  rendered  as  Landseer  or 
Rosa  Bonheur  render  animals,  with  an  enthusiasm  of 
love  that  never  tires,  that  never  can  enough  repeat 
them.  If  our  right  hand  had  been  endowed  with 
cunning,  we  believe  that  the  humbler  growths  of  the 
field  should  occupy  much  of  its  skill.  But  one  must 


WEEDS  IN  PICTURES.  123 

love  well  to  paint  well.  If  a  man  does  not  respect  a 
plant,  if  it  exerts  upon  him  no  positive  and  pleasur 
able  influence,  he  is  unfit  to  represent  it.  A  nurse 
that  does  not  love  children  can  never  take  good  care 
of  them ;  and  an  artist  that  does  not  love  what  are 
called  weeds  cannot  do  them  justice.  Some  ridicule 
has  been  thrown  upon  our  young  artists  for  painting 
grasses  so  much.  That  they  paint  them  at  all  is  their 
praise  ;  and  that  they  confine  themselves  to  so  few, 
and  repeat  their  work  so  often,  as  if  there  were  but 
half  a  dozen  species  in  the  world  fit  for  admiration,  is 
their  real  fault !  Instead  of  but  few  striking  and 
effective  plants,  in  any  direction,  growing  abundantly, 
there  are  so  many  that  one  might  well  be  embarrassed 
by  riches. 

There  is  ,the  dock  family.  None  can  be  less  pre 
tentious  or  more  meritorious.  What  if  it  does  grow 
r  in  dank  and  shaded  places  ?  What  a  breadth  of  leaf 
the  burdock  exhibits,  what  vigor  of  health,  what  an 
oak-like  spread  of  branches,  when  its  blossom-stem  is 
fully  extended !  There,  too,  is  the  relishful  horse 
radish,  of  a  broad  and  long  palm.  The  elecampane 
is  another  plant  of  generous  leaf.  Laying  aside  all 
prejudices,  who  can  deny  great  merit,  as  a  robust  and 
vigorous  plant,  to  the  skunk-cabbage  ?  What  if  its 
odor  is  an  indisputable  fact  ?  Art,  in  this  respect, 
has  the  advantage  of  Nature.  In  a  picture  its  peculiar 
and  delicate  green  would  be  beautiful,  without  the 
least  odor. 

Among  upright  plants  the  milkweed  is  notable. 
Not  for  its  grace,  but  for  its  full  habit  and  generous 
bearing.  The  thistles,  the  brier  family,  the  sedges, 
the  cat-tail,  the  water-plantain  family,  the  bind-weed, 


124  EYES  AND  EARS. 

the  woodbine,  and  the  blackberry,  both  upright  and 
creeping,  than  which,  in  early  leaf,  in  blossom,  or  in 
fruit  at  every  stage,  nothing  can  be  more  graceful 
and  beautiful,  —  these  all  deserve  careful  study. 

The  mullein  need  hardly  be  mentioned,  as  it  figures 
in  pictures  already.  But  what  would  be  more  ex 
quisite  than  the  spray  of  asparagus,  if  well  rendered  ? 
There,  too,  is  the  golden-rod,  the  aster,  the  iron- 
weed  (Vernonia)^  the  smart-weed,  the  teasel,  and  a 
hundred  more,  —  admirable  chiefly  for  ornamental 
designs  and  decorative  patterns,  but  likewise  fit  ele 
ments  for  the  foregrounds  of  landscapes.  It  is  worthy 
of  notice,  that  the  plants  most  valuable  for  culture  on 
our  continent  are  those  which  are  most  beautiful  for 
ornamental  design ;  namely,  wheat,  rye,  and  barley, 
the  Indian  corn,  the  cotton  and  tobacco  plants,  the 
grape-vine  and  its  fruit.  The  potato,  poor  homely 
fellow !  has  no  merit  except  in  its  blossom  ;  but 
almost  all  the  plants  which  form  the  staple  crops 
are  universally  beloved  of  artists. 

It  is  amusing  to  read  the  descriptions  of  weeds  in 
agricultural  books.  Editors  are  bound  to  look  upon 
weeds  only  in  relation  to  farming.  If  a  thing  be  pro 
lific,  tenacious  of  life,  and  voracious  of  food,  no  mat 
ter  how  graceful  its  form  or  comely  its  blossom,  it  is 
hated,  and  all  the  ugly  names  of  the  vocabulary  are 
heaped  on  it.  But  that  should  not  prevent  the  ad 
miration  of  those  who  have  no  crops  to  tend.  A 
pestilent  weed  may  yet  be  exquisitely  ornamental. 

We  are  quite  sure  that  it  is  the  artist's  fault  if  he  is 
deficient  in  succulent  foliage,  in  herbaceous  riches,  in 
all  graceful  stems  and  twining  vines.  Instead  of  a 
destitution  of  such  elements,  our  woods,  our  low,  wet 


THE  RIGHT  KIND   OF  FAEMING.  125 

meadows,  our  hedges  and  hill-sides,  are  full  of  them. 
It  requires  only  diligence  in  finding  and  industry  in 
representing  them  to  make  every  landscape  artist's 
portfolio  rich  in  vegetable  treasures. 


THE    RIGHT    KIND    OF    FARMING. 


are  few  places  for  a  visit  more  de 
lightful  than  a  large  and  well-kept  farm. 

The  farm-house  spacious,  unpretending, 
neat,  convenient  ;  the  barns  large,  and  clean  ; 
the  out-houses  for  pigs,  poultry,  tools,  etc.,  well  ar 
ranged  ;  the  bees  humming  endless  music  in  thin, 
long  row  behind  the  house  ;  the  garden,  the  fields, 
the  forest  ;  these,  together  with  the  coming  and  going 
of  herds,  the  steady  progress  of  various  kinds  of 
work,  the  unwasteful  abundance  of  provisions  which 
in  cities  are  doled  out  in  close  measure  ;  eggs  fresh 
every  day,  sweet  milk  oppressed  with  cream,  all  man 
ner  of  fruits  in  their  season,  and,  above  all,  vegetables 
'fresh  from  the  garden,  whose  true  flavor  is  unknown 
in  cities,  —  no  wonder  that  a  farm  excites  the  im 
agination,  and  raises  up  a  picture  of  delight  and  en 
joyment.  Speaking  of  vegetables,  it  may  be  cruel  to 
say  to  people  in  the  city,  that  they  have  no  idea  of  the 
flavor  of  peas  or  of  corn  ;  not  unless  they  remember 
how  they  used  to  taste  when  they  lived  in  the  country. 
They  must  be  eaten  alive,  or  they  are  poor  lux 
uries.  They  should  be  plucked  only  long  enough  to 
be  shelled  or  shredded  for  cooking. 


126  EYES  AND  EARS. 

Then,  in  the  sultry  days  of  July  and  August,  as 
the  great  tureen  comes  steaming  with  the  one,  and 
the  huge  platter  smoking  with  pyramids  of  the  other, 
who  cares  for  meats,  or  for  all  costly  confections  ? 
Peas  alone  are  a  feast ;  and  sweet  corn,  in  its  various 
methods,  —  on  the  cob,  cut  off  and  mixed  with  cream, 
or  raised  into  the  ineffable  glory  of  succotash,  —  is  a 
banquet  which  would  have  made  all  the  gods  forget 
ambrosia  and  nectar,  and  stroke  their  beards  with 
celestial  satisfaction. 

But  this  is  a  mere  episode.  To  visit  a  farm  as 
good  company,  to  have  horses  at  your  disposal,  to 
sit  in  the  shade  and  hear  the  hens  cackle  for  eggs 
laid,  and  cau-cau-caukle  for  contentment ;  to  watch 
the  workmen  at  their  task,  —  all  this  is  quite  charm 
ing.  But  to  carry  on  a  farm  is  another  thing  —  quite  ! 

A  farm  is  a  vast  manufactory.  Instead  of  build 
ings  and  machinery,  you  are  to  carry  on  manufactur 
ing  operations  through  the  agency  of  the  soil.  No 
laboratory  turns  out  a  greater  variety  of  products ; 
none  requires  for  its  highest  success  more  knowl 
edge,  skill,  and  business  tact.  If  a  chemist  were 
obliged  to  evolve  his  various  products  in  such  a  way, 
as  at  the  same  time  to  build  his  houses,  create  his 
furnaces  and  implements,  his  task  would  be  like  the 
farmer's,  who,  while  raising  crops,  is  also  bringing 
up  the  condition  of  his  ground,  and  fitting  it  for  its 
best  functions. 

It  is  not  difficult  for  a  man  to  raise  good  crops, 
if  he  has  money  enough.  A  rich  man  can  walk  out 
of  the  city  upon  a  poor  farm,  and  in  one  year  put 
ten  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  expense  upon  it.  He 
can  make  a  soil,  if  he  has  money  enough.  But  wheat 


THE   RIGHT   KIND    OF   FARMING.  127 

that  sells  for  a  dollar  a  bushel  will  cost  at  least  three ; 
and  corn  for  seventy-five  cents,  will  have  cost  two 
dollars.  It  is  not  hard  to  get  good  crops,  if  profit  is 
of  no  account.  A  rich  man  plays  with  a  farm,  as 
children  do  with  babies,  dressing  it  up  to  suit  his 
fancy,  and  quite  indifferent  to  expense  or  profit.  It 
is  his  fancy,  and  not  his  pocket,  that  he  farms  for. 
Such  men  are  not  useless.  They  employ  many  hands. 
They  try  a  great  many  experiments  which  working 
farmers  cannot  afford  to  try.  They  show  what  can 
be  done.  And  American  farmers,  although  they  will 
not  imitate,  will  do  better  than  that ;  —  they  will  take 
hints  in  this  thing  and  that,  and,  by  gradual  improve 
ment,  they  will  raise  their  own  style  of  farming  many 
degrees.  Every  township  ought  to  have  one  gentle 
man  farmer  who  aims  to  show  what  soil  can  be  made 
to  do.  In  his  case  it  may  not  be  remunerative.  But, 
take  the  country  through,  the  indirect  effect  will  be 
very  remunerative.  His  very  mistakes  will  be  useful. 
A  mistake  is  often  more  instructive  than  a  success. 
But  it  is  not  everybody  who  can  afford  so  dear  a 
schoolmaster. 

But,  even  with  a  pocket  full  of  money,  and  with  a 
farm  as  a  mere  play-ground,  a  rich  man  may  carry 
on  very  foolishly.  A  careless,  scheming  foreman  may 
waste  vast  sums  of  money,  without  producing  one 
useful  result,  either  to  his  employer  or  to  the  com 
munity.  Indeed,  we  scarcely  know  of  any  other 
sponge  that  will  suck,  in  so  short  a  time,  so  vast  a 
quantity  of  money,  as  a  farm  recklessly  carried  on  ! 
But,  unlike  a  sponge,  no  squeezing  will  give  back  the 
precious  contents.  Buildings  in  bad  taste  and  wrong 
ly  placed  ;  trees  planted  by  the  thousand,  and  dying 


128  EYES   AND  EARS. 

almost  as  fast  as  planted  ;  the  grounds  drained  at 
great  expense,  so  as  to  require  draining  again  in 
two  or  three  years;  costly  cattle  and  sheep  bought, 
and  then  neglected  ;  experiments  begun  with  great 
outlay,  tired  of,  and  given  up  before  half  completed  ; 
—  these,  and  such  like  things,  are  follies  which  have 
scarcely  any  compensating  side. 

Although  we  use  the  word  farming  as  including 
every  variety  of  operation  based  upon  the  soil,  yet 
the  word  covers  occupations  more  dissimilar  than 
are  the  occupations  of  the  lawyer  and  the  clergyman, 
or  the  schoolmaster  and  the  blacksmith.  What  sim 
ilarity  is  there  in  farming  for  fruit  or  farming  for 
herbs  ?  What  can  be  more  unlike  than  a  grazing 
farm,  for  stock  or  the  dairy,  and  a  grain  farm,  for 
sale  or  fattening  stock  ?  How  unlike  is  the  conduct 
of  a  great  plantation,  raising  one  or  two  staples,  and 
the  farm  of  a  score  of  acres,  of  mixed  crops,  raised 
by  the  owner's  own  hand  for  his  own  use. 

Leaving  to  the  mood  of  other  days  some  excellent 
remarks  on  these  various  kinds  of  farming,  we  avow 
our  own  preference,  among  all  kinds  and  varieties 
of  agricultural  procedure,  to  meditative  and  imagi 
native  farming.  Sitting  in  our  barn-door,  which,  look 
ing  south,  is  raised  one  story  above  the  yard  beneath, 
what  do  we  see  ?  Not  the  Hudson  rolled  out  so 
wide  as  to  take  the  name  of  Haverstraw  Bay,  nor  the 
mountains  beyond,  nor  yet  the  green  and  rounded 
tops  of  the  near  opposite  hills,  nor  the  fringes  of 
forest  which  divide  the  several  sections,  nor  the  slopes, 
and  basins,  and  tree-ruffled  dwelling-houses.  What 
do  we  see  ?  You  would  say  that  the  object  of  our 
regard  was  a  compost-heap.  And  by  that  polite  term 


THE   RIGHT   KIND    OF   FARMING.  129 

let  it  be  called.  But  you  and  I  do  not  see  the  same 
thing  when  looking  at  that  soil  and  straw  and  turf 
and  litter.  You  see  a  round  heap  of  fermenting 
materials.  I  see  flowers  and  vegetables  and  fruits. 
Out  of  that  heap  blossom,  to  my  eye,  mignonette  and 
phlox,  and  geraniums,  roses,  petunias,  verbenas,  asters, 
and  dahlias  !  I  see  regimental  rows  of  currants,  straw 
berries,  and  raspberries.  Great  yellow-bellied  pump 
kins  orb  up  to  my  sight  from  among  the  withering 
stalks  of  ripened  corn.  Compost,  indeed  !  That  is  a 
grove  of  trees,  a  young  orchard,  long  lines  of  elms, 
clumps  of  balmy  evergreens.  That  is  not  undigested 
straw,  but  peas  and  flowering  beans  ;  that  is  not  lump 
ish  manure,  but  wheat  and  grapes  !  Why,  this  barn 
yard  is  a  garden,  if  only  looked  at  aright,  purpled 
with  innumerable  flowers  ;  it  is  a  vineyard,  all  of 
whose  broad  leaf-hands  cannot  cover  up  the  purple 
clusters  ;  it  is  an  orchard,  —  see  the  trees  bending  with 
fruit,  or  humming  with  insects  and  bees,  that  are  re 
galing  themselves  in  its  blossoms  !  Ah  !  here  is  rare 
delight !  Here  sit  I,  a  farmer  indeed,  all  of  whose 
fields,  planted  in  imagination,  tilled  by  fancy,  are 
reaped  in  visions. 

My  crops  never  fail.  Weather  never  thwarts  me. 
Everything  succeeds.  Men  are  always  skilful,  seed 
is  always  good,  the  hay  is  never  caught  by  showers, 
the  wheat  escapes  rust  and  fly  that  afflict  newspapers 
so  dreadfully  about  these  days  ;  and,  in  short,  as  long 
as  I  have  a  comfortable  support  aside  from  these 
grounds,  I  mean  to  raise  imaginations  and  medita 
tions  on  this  farm.  It  is  a  capital  soil  for  such  crops  ! 


130  EYES  AND   EARS. 


ARE    BIRDS    WORTH   THEIR    KEEPING? 

]E  receive  many  pleasant  notes  from  rural 
friends  upon  country  subjects.  Two  be 
fore  us  are  on  birds  and  weeds.  The  first 
we  publish,  with  remarks,  below  ;  the  other, 
from  an  artist  in  trouble,  we  shall  give,  with  suit 
able  comfort,  by  and  by. 

"  Your  special  contributor,  '  perched  upon  his  green 
hill-slope  beyond  Peekskill,'  writes  about  birds ;  but 
there  are  some  things  about  birds  which  he  left  un 
said.  It  is  very  well  to  speak  in  their  praise,  but  we 
should  not  be  altogether  blind  to  their  faults.  I  enjoy 
their  sport  in  the  grove,  as  they  leap  from  branch  to 
branch,  or  hover  around,  cleaving  the  air  ever  and 
anon  with  swift  wing.  I  am  delighted  with  their 
beautiful  and  varied  plumage.  I  am  charmed  with 
the  sweetness  and  variety  of  their  ceaseless  songs. 
But,  with  all  this,  I  am  compelled  to  say,  they  are 
inveterate  and  incorrigible  thieves  and  robbers,  im 
bued  with  mischief  as  the  human  heart  with  deprav 
ity.  I  give  my  experience. 

"  I  am  owner  of  a  half-acre  upon  a  c  hill-slope,'  not 
on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  it  is  true,  but  bounding 
the  valley  of  the  Chemung.  I  planted  upon  it  a  grove 
and  an  orchard.  I  invited  the  birds  to  lodge  and 
sport  in  their  branches  and  find  shelter  beneath  their 
foliage,  and  they  accepted  the  invitation.  Sweet  was 
their  song,  and  gay  was  their  sport.  Among  my 
fruit-trees  was  a  cherry  producing  rare,  sweet,  and 
early  fruit.  I  watched  its  growing  trunk  and  ex- 


ARE  BIRDS  WORTH  THEIR  KEEPING  ?  131 

panding  branches  from  year  to  year,  and  in  due 
course  of  the  times  and  seasons  hailed  its  opening 
blossoms.  Day  by  day  I  marked  the  growth  of  the 
fruit,  and  at  last  saw  the  daily  deepening  blush  over 
spreading  its  cheek  and  betokening  speedy  ripeness. 
I  promised  my  wife  and  children  and  myself  a  rich 
feast  of  the  first  fruit  of  the  season.  But,  alas  for  hu 
man  hopes !  The  birds  had  promised  themselves  the 
same  thing,  and  in  one  day  they  plucked  every  cherry 
approaching  toward  ripeness  from  my  tree.  This  they 
did  every  day,  till  not  one  remained. 

"  But  my  tree  was  then  small,  and  I  thought  as 
it  should  enlarge  and  produce  more  fruit,  the  birds 
would,  after  satisfying  themselves,  leave  a  little  for 
me ;  and  so  I  waited,  but  in  vain.  The  present  sea 
son  1  determined,  if  possible,  to  get  a  taste  of  my 
cherries,  and  when  they  began  to  ripen  I  placed  a 
scarecrow  in  the  tree.  But  the  birds  soon  became 
acquainted  with  the  scarecrow,  and  stole  the  fruit 
unterrified.  I  watched  hours  with  stones,  which  I 
hurled  at  them,  but  they  soon  learned  the  uncertainty 
of  my  aim,  and  stood  fire  unmoved.  I  threatened  a 
gun,  but  my  wife  and  daughters  said  it  was  a  pity  to 
shoot  such  pretty  birds,  plucking  the  cherries  so  cun 
ningly,  and  that  they  would  rather  go  without  the 
fruit  than  see  them  killed.  So  the  birds  again  com 
pleted  their  robbing,  and  to  this  day  I  have  never 
tasted  a  fully  ripe  cherry  from  my  favorite  tree.  I 
am  a  friend  to  the  birds,  whether  they  waken  me 
early  in  the  morning  or  not,  if  they  will  only  abstain 
from  my  choice  cherries.  But  with  my  present  ex 
perience,  I  have  no  other  alternative  but  to  denounce 
them  as  thieves  and  pests  —  in  cherry  time.  ** 

"  Corning,  N.  Y." 


132  EYES   AND  EARS. 

There  is  no  unmixed  good  in  this  world  except 
dying,  which  cures  all  ill  and  inherits  all  blessing. 
But  while  living,  what  is  there  without  an  admixture 
of  evil  ?  Even  that  wife,  who  properly  restrained  you 
from  harming  the  birds,  and  evidently  is  a  good  wo 
man,  has  probably  some  slight  infelicities  of  disposi 
tion.  The  very  children,  that  carry  the  doubled  ex 
cellences  of  their  parents,  have  they  not  some  strokes 
of  mischief?  Indeed,  sir,  do  you  not  find  that  you 
are  obliged  to  take  even  yourself  with  some  grains  of 
allowance  ?  Why,  then,  should  you  demand  that 
birds  should  be  more  perfect  than  anything  else  in 
this  world  ? 

Let  us  state  the  case.  Although  birds  undertake 
to  furnish  you  with  the  most  admirable  amusement, 
and  with  music  such  as  no  orchestra  could  be  hired 
to  give,  they  do  not  charge  you  a  penny  for  their 
services.  You  never  have  to  wake  them.  You  have 
no  care  of  their  toilet.  You  are  asked  to  provide 
nothing  for  their  breakfast,  nothing  for  dinner,  noth 
ing  for  supper.  They  draw  on  you  for  no  linen  for 
their  beds,  and  no  space  for  tenement  room.  They 
come  to  you  early  in  spring ;  they  stay  with  you  till 
the  red  leaves  grow  brown,  and  even  then  they  leave 
a  rear-guard  to  watch  the  winter,  and  every  bright 
day  till  after  January  is  sentinelled  with  some  faith 
ful,  simple  bird  on  duty. 

And  what  is  the  service  they  render  ?  A  thousand 
sparrows  there  are,  without  remarkable  song,  but 
whose  very  name  recalls  to  you  the  memorable  words 
of  Christ.  There  is  not  another  truth  more  needed 
and  doubted  by  sorrowing  and  hard-used  men,  than 
that  of  God's  personal  care  over  human  interests. 


ARE   BIRDS   WORTH   THEIR   KEEPING  ?  133 

There  is  scarcely  a  land  on  the  globe  now  where  the 
Bible  does  not  say  to  men,  "  Are  not  two  sparrows 
sold  for  a  farthing  ?  And  one  of  them  shall  not  fall 
to  the  ground  without  your  Father."  And  there  is, 
scarcely  a  rood  of  ground  on  the  earth  where  this  lit 
tle  bird  does  not  flit  before  our  eyes  every  day,  tiny, 
homely,  with  only  a  chirp  for  a  song;  but  a  text- 
bearer,  a  mission-bird,  a  remembrance  to  every  dis 
couraged  soul  of  Christ's  words  of  sweet  assurance. 
I  would  feed  a  thousand  sparrows  with  all  the  cher 
ries  that  their  little  crops  could  carry,  for  the  sake  of 
that  very  truth  which  God  has  associated  with  their 
name,  and  which  they  recite  to  me  every  day.  For 
what  cherry  or  currant  or  berry  that  they  pluck  from 
my  trees  can  be  worth  to  me  what  that  fruit  is  which 
they  bring  to  me  from  the  Tree  of  Life  ? 

But  there  is  another  sparrow,  —  the  tribe  is  large,  — 
the  song-sparrow,  whose  note  is  the  sweetest,  we  some 
times  think,  of  all  the  summer's  birds.  It  is  a  perpet 
ual  songster.  It  comes  early  and  stays  late.  It  sings 
all  day.  We  have  heard  its  soft,  clear,  and  exquis 
itely  sweet  little  snatch  of  melody,  from  out  of  the 
tree  overhead,  at  two  o'clock  on  a  sultry  day,  with  the 
thermometer  at  90°  and  no  wind  stirring !  Is  not  that 
fidelity  ?  Dear  little  soul,  I  would  give  it  all  the  cher 
ries  on  the  place  for  itself  and  fellows,  and  bushels 
more,  if  it  would  deign  to  confer  upon  me  still  the 
favor  of  such  sweet  utterances !  For.  in  good  sooth, 
men  are  the  beneficiaries  and  birds  are  the  benefac 
tors  !  It  is  arrogance  and  egotism  for  us  to  regard  in 
sects,  birds,  and  innocuous  beasts,  as  honored  in  our 
mere  tolerance  !  They  too  are  God's  creatures.  They 
too  are  a  part  of  the  filling  up  of  the  grand  picture  of 


134  EYES   AND   EARS. 

his  earthly  cathedral.  They  have  an  errand  of  their 
own,  a  place  of  honor ;  and  no  one  is  to  despise  or 
patronizingly  to  condescend  to  notice  that  which  God 
made,  and  makes,  and  rejoices  over  in  every  land  and 
field  upon  the  globe ! 

Next  to  these,  we  hear  every  day,  just  now,  the 
wren.  A  pert,  petite,  smart,  brave  little  animated 
spark  is  he !  His  song  is  a  twisted  thread  of  sweet 
ness.  His  amazing  assiduity  in  doing  nothing  is  quite 
edifying.  He  is  brave  in  battle,  —  as  human  bustling 
do-nothings  seldom  are,  —  and  will  whip  twice  his 
weight  of  martins  and  swallows. 

But  none  of  these  mentioned  birds  are  particularly 
fond  of  fruit.  Seeds  and  insects  form  their  diet  in 
chief.  The  same  is  true  of  that  artist,  the  bobolink, 
that  sings  at  the  North  in  a  black  and  white  livery ; 
but  going  South  changes  his  coat  and  his  note,  and, 
like  many  another  northern-bred  black-coat,  drops  into 
good  living,  and  grows  fat  in  the  rice-swamps,  and  for 
gets  to  use  his  voice,  except  to  call  for  more  food,  or 
raise  an  alarm-cry  when  there  is  some  danger  of  los 
ing  what  he  has  got.  The  chief  depredators  of  the 
garden  are  the  robin,  the  blue-jay,  the  oriole,  and  the 
pea-bird,  or  wax-wing. 

A  man  that  would  shoot  a  robin,  except  in  fall, 
when,  in  flocks,  they  are  gathered  together  to  caravan 
the  air  in  their  long  pilgrimage  to  Southern  glades 
and  forests,  and  then  really  and  conscientiously  for 
food,  has  in  him  the  blood  of  a  cannibal,  and  would, 
if  born  in  Otaheite,  have  eaten  ministers,  and  digested 
them  too. 

Indeed,  if  it  were  not  too  much  trouble  to  re-write 
what  we  have  said  of  the  song-sparrow,  we  would  say 


ARE  BIRDS  WORTH  THEIR  KEEPING  ?  135 

that  the  robin  is  our  sweetest  summer  singer.  This 
universal  favorite  has  a  variety  of  songs.  All  are 
sweet,  but  one  rises  far  above  all  the  rest.  At  even 
ing,  the  sun  gone  down,  the  cows  returned  from  pas 
ture,  the  landscape  radiant  in  its  salient  points,  but 
growing  dim  and  solemn  underneath,  then,  as  you  sit 
musing  in  your  door,  you  shall  hear  from  a  tree  on 
the  lawn,  a  little  distant,  a  continuous  calling  song, 
full  of  sweet  importunity  mingled  with  sadness.  It  is 
the  call  for  its  absent  mate.  Sometimes  it  rolls  and 
gurgles  for  but  a  moment,  when  a  shadow  flits  through 
the  air,  and  a  sudden  flash  of  leaves,  the  song  stops, 
two  birds  glide  out  upon  the  sky,  and  fly  to  their 
home.  But  at  other  times  the  bird's  grief  is  your 
gain.  No  coming  mate  shortens  his  song.  Some  re 
morseless  boy  has  brought  him  down,  to  sing,  and 
build,  and  brood  no  more ;  some  cat  or  hawk  or  gaz 
ing  snake  has  dined  upon  the  fair  thing.  And  so, 
though  the  twilight  falls,  and  the  evening  grows 
darker,  the  song  calls  on,  pausing  only  to  change  the 
manner,  throwing  in  here  and  there  coaxing  notes 
and  staccato  exclamations  of  impatience,  but  going 
back  soon  to  the  gushing,  pining,  yearning  home-call. 
Take  all  my  strawberries  if  you  want  them,  0  singer ! 
Come  to-morrow  for  my  cherries !  You  pay  me  in 
one  single  song  for  all  that  you  can  eat  in  a  summer, 
and  leave  me  still  in  your  debt.  For  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  paying  for  that  which  touches  your  heart, 
raises  your  imagination,  wings  your  fancy,  and  carries 
you  up,  by  inspired  thoughts,  above  the  level  of  selfish 
life.  The  heart  only  can  pay  the  heart  for  good  ser 
vice.  As  to  cherries,  I  '11  take  my  chance  when  my 
betters  are  served.  Eat  what  you  wish,  sweet  sir, 


136  EYES  AND  EARS. 

and  if  there  are  any  left,  I  will  think  them  all  the 
sweeter,  as  a  part  of  your  banquet. 

'As  to  the  orioles,  there  are  but  few  of  them.  I  wish 
there  were  more.  The  jay  too,  though  a  brave  eater, 
and  a  large  one,  sticks  to  the  woods,  for  the  most  part, 
and  comes  but  seldom  to  the  garden.  Its  note  is  as 
terrible  as  the  music  of  the  Scotch  bagpipe.  We 
should  think  the  spirits  of  a  dozen  old  pipers  had  en 
tered  into  every  particular  blue-jay,  and  their  notes 
quarrelled  and  jangled  in  its  throat  which  should 
be  most  cutting  and  cacophonous !  Yet  the  blue-jay 
won  its  way  to  our  regard,  and  in  this  wise.  When 
living  in  Indiana  they  sang  a  great  deal  about  our 
little  one-story  house,  and  screamed  and  shrieked  with 
such  terrible  vigor  that  our  nerves  gave  way.  We 
had  had  chills  and  fever,  —  were  weak,  and  a  little 
edgy.  We  took  our  gun  and  began  an  indiscriminate 
warfare.  The  jay  is  tenacious  of  life,  and  dies  game. 
After  a  day  or  two  of  shooting,  we  began  to  admire 
the  soldier-like  quality  of  these  splendid  and  high- 
plumed  fellows.  And  when,  with  our  last  shot,  we 
brought  down  a  splendid  specimen,  half  shot  to  pieces, 
but  full  of  pluck,  his  eye  bright,  his  courage  up,  fight 
ing  for  his  life,  that  ebbed  away,  and  dealing  blows 
right  and  left  at  our  hand  with  his  stiff  bill,  and  dying 
without  flinching,  pluck  to  the  very  last  gasp,  we  were 
conquered,  and  vowed  that  we  would  never  shoot  such 
a  brave  bird  again  !  We  never  have.  We  never  will. 

But,  now,  as  to  the  wax-wings,  or  the  little  crested, 
yellow  pea-birds,  that  never  come  to  cheer  you,  that 
eat  none  of  the  marauding  insects,  that  only  sing  a 
sharp  "pee  ze"  while  they  are  gobbling  down  your 
fruit,  or  ripping  out  the  peas  from  the  tender  pod,  — 


COUNTRY   STILLNESS   AND   WOODCHUCKS.  137 

why,  we  must  say,  that  if  any  birds  are  to  be  shot, 
these  are  the  ones.  We  do  not  recommend  it.  For 
it  may  scare  the  song-birds,  and  wound  the  feelings  of 
robins  and  their  fellows.  All  the  cherries  on  earth 
could  not  be  so  sweet  in  our  mouth  as  are  the  notes 
of  robins  in  our  ears.  These  drops  of  sound  are  the 
true  fruits,  and  the  wide  air  is  that  garden  universal 
which  rears  and  shakes  them  down  for  all  whose  senses 
are  refined  enough  to  know  how  to  feed  by  the  eye 
and  the  ear,  more  than  by  the  mouth ! 

* 


COUNTRY   STILLNESS   AND   WOODCHUCKS. 

OTHING  marks  the  change  from  the  city 
to  the  country  so  much  as  the  absence 
of  grinding  noises.  The  country  is  never 
silent.  But  its  sounds  are  separate,  dis 
tinct,  and,  as  it  were,  articulate.  The  grinding  of 
wheels  in  paved  streets,  the  clash  and  din  of  a  half- 
million  men,  mingling,  form  a  grand  body  of  sound, 
which,  however  harsh  and  dissonant  to  those  near 
by,  becomes  at  a  little  distance  softened,  round,  and 
almost  musical.  Thus,  from  Brooklyn  heights,  New 
York  sounds  its  diapason,  vast  and  almost  endless. 
The  direction  of  the  wind  greatly  influences  the 
sound.  When  the  air  is  moist,  and  the  wind  west, 
the  city  sends  a  roar  across  like  the  incessant  break 
of  surf  upon  the  ocean  shore.  But  with  an  eastern 
wind,  the  murmur  is  scarcely  greater,  and  almost  as 
soft,  as  winds  moving  gently  in  forests. 


138  EYES   AND  EARS. 

But  it  is  not  simply  sound  that  acts  upon  us.  There 
is  a  jar,  an  incessant  tremor,  that  affects  one  more 
or  less  according  to  the  state  of  his  nerves.  And, 
in  leaving  the  city  by  rail-cars,  the  roar  and  jar  of 
the  train  answer  a  good  purpose  in  keeping  up  the 
sense  of  the  city,  until  you  reach  your  destination. 
Once  removed  from  all  these  sound-making  agencies, 
and  one  is  conscious  of  an  almost  new  atmosphere. 
Single  sounds  come  through  the  air  as  arrows  fly, 
but  do  not  fill  it.  The  crowing  of  a  cock,  the  cawing 
of  a  crow,  the  roll  of  a  chance  wagon,  and  the  patter 
of  horses'  feet,  —  these,  one  by  one,  rise  into  the  air 
to  stir  it,  and  sink  back  again,  leaving  it  without  a 
ripple.  For  a  time,  this  both  excites  and  soothes. 
During  the  wakening  hours  the  very  stillness  plays 
upon  your  imagination  with  importunity.  You  feel 
how  still  it  is.  You  murmur  to  yourself,  "  0  how 
quiet !  how  tranquil !  "  On  a  side-hill,  with  a  wide 
look-out,  upon  a  rock,  or  under  its  shade,  you  lie 
for  the  hour  stupid  in  the  bath  of  stillness.  The 
wings  of  birds  that  fly  past  you  are  audible.  A  leaf 
falling  on  a  leaf  reports  itself.  The  squeak  of  field- 
mice,  in  their  petty  synods,  the  frolic  and  bark  of 
squirrels,  become  very  prominent  sounds. 

I  cannot  say  that  such  scenes  are  favorable  to 
thought.  It  is  fancy  that  moves  quickest  then.  It 
is  a  nourishing  of  the  sentiments  and  feelings.  The 
past  and  the  future  play  together,  and  memory  and 
expectation  pitch  sweet  fancies  to  each  other. 

We  said  that  country  silence  was  also  soothing.  Let 
the  few  first  nights'  sleep  bear  witness  !  In  the  first 
place,  men's  habits  right  themselves.  We  dine  at 
noon,  not  at  sundown.  We  take  tea  in  the  broad 


COUNTRY   STILLNESS  AND   WOODCHUCKS.  139 

light  of  the  sun.  And  by  nine  o'clock  the  evening 
has  become  very  late,  and  we  nod  and  yawn,  and  drop 
off  to  bed.  You  look  out  first  to  see  if  all  is  right. 
The  moon  has  it  all  her  own  way  up  there.  There 
is  not  a  breath  of  wind.  The  leaves  hold  as  still  as 
if  they  did  not  know  how  to  swing  and  quiver.  The 
cricket  is  singing.  A  whippowill  stirs  up  fond  re 
membrances.  Some  super-serviceable  dog  lets  off  a 
bark,  as  if  he  had  pulled  the  trigger  by  accident, 
then  shuts  his  muzzle,  and  leaves  tne  great  round 
heavens  almost  empty  of  a  sound.  Ah !  these  long 
country  nights,  full  of  unwakening  sleep  ! 

To  find  yourself  in  the  morning  just  where  you 
lay  down  !  To  sleep  without  a  wink,  a  roll,  or  the 
slightest  change,  eight  hours,  —  that  is  to  get  back 
far  toward  boyhood  again. 

Speaking  of  boyhood,  did  you  ever  hunt  wood- 
chucks  ?  We  remember  well  what  venatorial  perturba 
tion  our  young  bosom  used  to  suffer  on  seeing  a  wood- 
chuck  popping  up  his  head  above  the  grass,  and  with 
what  headlong  zeal  we  plunged  after  him,  invariably 
to  just  miss  catching  him  as  his  tail  disappeared  down 
his  hole.  This  region  seems  to  be  a  favorite  haunt 
for  these  marmots.  Some  dozen,  we  judge,  are  ten 
ants  on  our  farm.  The  boys  have  made  several  saga 
cious  forays  upon  them  with  arms  and  dog,  but 
Sir  Marmot  has  always  been  just  a  little  too  deep 
for  them.  Not  so  the  dog.  Jocko  had  been  down 
upon  a  visit  to  a  neighboring  dog,  talking  of  rabbits, 
cats,  and  other  things  which  have  power  over  dogs' 
imaginations.  On  his  way  home,  a  young  wood- 
chuck,  whose  ma  did  not  know  that  he  was  out, 
inadvertently  exposed  himself.  The  temptation  was 


140  EYES  AND  EARS. 

too  strong  for  Jocko.  With  one  or  two  tremen 
dous  bounds,  a  nip,  and  a  very  busy  shaking,  the 
work  was  done.  For  all  the  good  his  parents  had 
of  him,  the  woodchuck  might  as  well  not  have  been 
born.  John  skinned  him  neatly.  He  was  roasted. 
The  family  sat  around.  The  lady  of  the  house  per 
emptorily  refused  to  touch  the  "varmint."  The 
eldest  son  agreed  to  support  the  father,  and  the  two 
younkers  were  fierce  to  eat  woodchuck !  The  head 
of  the  family  disposed  of  one  mouthful,  and  looked 
around.  Being  watched,  he  boldly  took  a  second,  and 
was  imitated.  But  about  the  third  taste  made  it  plain 
that  woodchuck  satisfies  the  appetite  very  speedily. 

These  singular,  chubby,  nimble  fellows  have  a  very 
good  time  of  it,  on  the  whole.  They  wake  up  from  a 
winter's  sleep  ;  enjoy  the  spring,  summer,  and  autumn. 
They  have  no  migration  to  attend  to.  They  lay  up 
no  stock  of  winter  food.  When  the  time  comes,  they 
roll  up  into  a  heap  in  the  chamber  of  their  burrow, 
poke  their  nose  into  their  belly,  and  tuck  their  tail 
around,  to  make  a  good  finish,  and  then  they  outsleep 
storms,  snow,  and  winter.  But  we  have  saved  one 
member  of  this  family  even  this  trouble.  We  have 
looked  in  the  Prices  Current  of  The  Independent  in 
vain  to  find  the  ruling  prices  of  woodchuck-skins. 
Can  any  one  inform  us  ?  From  the  amazing  enter 
prise  shown  by  the  boys,  hitherto,  they  might  turn 
an  honest  penny  yet,  in  selling  packs  of  woodchuck- 
skins  ! 

Meanwhile,  my  young  marmots,  you  are  welcome 
to  all  the  clover  you  can  eat,  to  all  the  holes  you  dig. 
You  may  sit  serene  after  your  morning  feed,  and  sun 
yourselves  without  fear  of  the  boys,  for  really,  jesting 


A  CANNON-BALL  IN   THE  HAT.  141 

apart,  they  are  not  half  as  smart  as  you  are.  Don't 
flinch  if  they  shoot,  especially  if  they  take  aim.  But 
beware  of  the  dog.  He  does  not  say  much.  He  is 
apt  to  perform  first,  and  promise  afterwards. 

* 


A    CANNON-BALL    IN    THE    HAT. 

]HEN  I  was  a  lad  of  thirteen  years,  my  father 
removed  from  a  country  town  to  Boston. 
Nothing  of  all  its  sights  produced  upon 
me  such  an  impression  as  the  ships.  The 
outlying  bay,  the  ocean  beyond,  its  mystery,  the  ships 
coming  in  and  going  out,  the  masts  and  rigging, 
standing  up  against  the  sky,  —  these  things  produced 
an  indelible  impression  on  my  imagination.  All  the 
world  rose  up  to  my  fancy.  Real  and  fabulous  things 
commingled,  —  voyagers  and  buccaneers,  merchant 
men  and  pirates,  fleets  of  men-of-war,  came  before 
my  inward  sight,  and  all  distant  lands  and  famous 
islands.  Long  Wharf  has  taught  me  a  great  deal  of 
geography  and  sea-history. 

But  the  Navy- Yard,  in  the  adjoining  town  of 
Charlestown,  separated  only  by  Charles  River  from 
Boston,  was  my  especial  wonder  and  glory.  I  be 
came  familiar  with  all  its  marvels.  I  crept  down  to 
the  bottom  of  its  huge  and  dismantled  ships,  I  climbed 
up  to  the  decks  of  those  which  were  building  in  the 
covered  ship-houses,  I  watched  the  construction  of  its 
famous  stone  Dry  Dock,  I  ranged  along  the  silent 
mouths  of  its  massive  cannon. 


142  EYES  AND  EARS. 

One  day  I  visited  some  ill-constructed  vaults  where 
shot  had  been  stored.  The  six  and  twelve  pound 
shot  were  extremely  tempting.  I  had  no  partic 
ular  use  for  them.  I  am  to  this  day  puzzled  to 
know  why  I  coveted  them.  There  was  no  chance 
in  the  house  to  roll  them,  and  as  little  in  the  street. 
For  base-ball  or  shinty  they  were  altogether  too  sub 
stantial.  But  I  was  seized  with  an  irresistible  de 
sire  to  possess  one.  As  I  had  been  well  brought  up, 
of  course  the  first  objection  arose  on  the  score  of 
stealing.  But  I  disposed  of  that,  with  a  patriotic  fa 
cility  that  ought  long  before  this  to  have  sent  me  to 
Congress,  by  the  plea  that  it  was  no  sin  to  steal  from 
the  government.  Next,  how  should  I  convey  the 
shot  from  the  yard  without  detection  ?  ^  I  tried  it  in 
my  handkerchief.  That  was  altogether  too  plain. 
I  tried  my  jacket-pocket,  but  the  sag  and*  shape  of 
that  alarmed  my  fears.  I  tried  my  breeches-pocket, 
but  the  abrupt  protuberance  was  worse  than  all.  I 
had  a  good  mind  to  be  honest,  since  there  was  no 
feasible  way  of  carrying  it  off.  At  length  a  thought 
struck  me.  Wrap  a  handkerchief  about  it,  and  put 
it  in  your  hat. 

Now  all  the  world  knows  that  a  boy's  hat  serves 
as  a  universal  pocket.  There  he  carries  handker 
chief,  papers,  twine,  letters  for  the  post-office,  tops; 
in  short,  whatever  traps  the  pocket  cannot  hold,  or 
whatever  contraband  thing  would  show  through,  goes 
to  the  hat.  Is  a  hen's-nest  found  out,  the  hat  takes 
the  eggs.  Is  fruit  to  be  gathered,  the  hat  takes  it. 
Is  the  boy  heaping  up  stones  to  fire  at  cats,  birds, 
dogs,  and  strangers,  the  hat  collects  and  carries  them 
to  the  heap.  Does  a  boy  want  a  butterfly,  the  hat 


A   CANNON-BALL   IN   THE   HAT.  143 

is  his  net  to  cast  over  it.  Would  he  smack  a  fly  or 
a  bee,  his  hat  is  better  than  a  bat.  It  is  his  fan 
when  hot  and  his  protection  when  cold.  And  as  age 
gives  it  suppleness,  it  mounts  into  the  air  as  a  poor 
foot-ball.  By  that  very  signal,  too,  you  may  know 
when  school  is  let  out:  hats  go  up.  And  Sunday 
morning  may  be  detected,  if  one  has  lost  his  reckon 
ing,  by  the  style  and  sobriety  of  boys'  hats.  It  is  the 
only  day  of  rest  for  hats  as  well  as  for  boys. 

The  iron  ball  was  accordingly  swaddled  with  the 
handkerchief  and  mounted  on  my  head  and  the  hat 
shut  over  it.  I  emerged  from  the  vault  a  little  less 
courageous  than  was  pleasant,  and  began  my  march 
toward  the  gate.  Every  step  seemed  a  mile.  Every 
man  I  met  looked  unusually  hard  at  me.  The  ma 
rines  evidently  were  suspecting  my  hat.  Some  sailors, 
leering  and  rolling  toward  the  ships,  seemed  to  look 
me  through.  The  perspiration  stood  all  over  my  face 
as  an  officer  came  toward  me.  Now  for  it !  I  was  to 
be  arrested,  put  in  prison,  cat-o'-nine-tailed,  or  shot  for 
aught  I  knew.  I  wished  the  ball  in  the  bottom  of  the 
sea ;  but  no,  it  was  on  the  top  of  my  head  ! 

By  this  time,  too,  it  had  grown  very  heavy  ;  I  must 
have  made  a  mistake  in  selecting!  I  meant  a  six- 
pounder,  but  I  was  sure  it  must  have  been  a  twelve- 
pounder,  and  before  I  got  out  of  the  yard  it  weighed 
twenty-four  pounds  !  I  began  to  fear  that  the  stiffness 
with  which  I  carried  my  neck  would  excite  suspicion, 
and  so  I  tried  to  limber  up  a  little,  which  had  nearly 
ruined  me,  for  the  shot  took  a  roll  around  my  crown 
in  a  manner  that  liked  to  have  brought  me  and  my 
hat  to  the  ground.  Indeed,  I  felt  like  a  loaded  can 
non,  and  every  man  and  every  thing  was  like  a  spark 


144  EYES   AND  EARS. 

trying  to  touch  me  off.  The  gate  was  a  great  way 
farther  off  than  I  ever  had  found  it  before ;  I  seemed 
likely  never  to  get  there. 

And  when,  at  length,  heart-sore  and  head-sore,  with 
my  scalp  well  rolled,  I  got  to  the  gate,  all  my  terror 
came  to  a  culmination  as  the  sentinel  stopped  his 
marching,  drew  himself  up,  and,  looking  at  me,  smiled. 
I  expected  him  to  say,  "  O,  you  little  thievish  d — 1,  do 
you  think  I  do  not  see  through  you  ?  "  — but,  bless  his 
heart,  he  only  said,  "  Pass  !  "  He  did  not  say  it  twice. 
I  walked  a  few  steps  farther,  and  then,  having  great 
faith  in  the  bravery  of  my  feet,  I  pulled  my  hat  off  be 
fore  me,  and  carrying  it  in  that  position,  I  whipped 
around  the  first  corner,  and  made  for  the  bridge  with 
a  speed  which  Flora  Temple  would  envy. 

When  I  reached  home,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  my 
shot.  I  did  not  dare  show  it  in  the  house,  nor  tell 
where  I  got  it ;  and  after  one  or  two  solitary  rolls,  I 
gave  it  away  on  the  same  day  to  a  Prince-Streeter. 

But,  after  all,  that  six-pounder  rolled  a  good  deal  of 
sense  into  my  skull.  I  think  it  was  the  last  thing  that 
I  ever  stole  (excepting  a  little  matter  of  a  heart,  now 
and  then),  and  it  gave  me  a  notion  of  the  folly  of  cov 
eting  more  than  you  can  enjoy,  which  has  made  my 
whole  life  happier.  It  was  rather  a  severe  mode  of 
catechizing,  but  ethics  rubbed  in  with  a  six-pound  shot 
are  better  than  none  at  all. 

But  I  see  men  doing  the  same  thing,  —  going  into 
underground,  dirty  vaults,  and  gathering  up  wealth 
which  will  roll  round  their  heads  like  my  cannon-ball, 
and  be  not  a  whit  softer  because  it  is  gold  instead  of 
iron,  though  there  is  not  a  man  in  Wall  Street  who 
will  believe  that. 


MY  POCKETS.  145 

I  have  seen  a  man  put  himself  to  every  humiliation 
to  win  a  proud  woman  who  has  been  born  above  him, 
and  when  he  had  won  her,  he  walked  all  the  rest  of 
his  life  with  a  cannon-ball  in  his  hat. 

I  have  seen  young  men  enrich  themselves  by  pleas 
ures  in  the  same  wise  way,  sparing  no  pains,  and  scru 
pling  at  no  sacrifice  of  principle,  for  the  sake,  at  last, 
of  carrying  a  burden  which  no  man  can  bear. 

All  the  world  are  busy  in  striving  for  things  that 
give  little  pleasure  and  bring  much  care ;  and  in  my 
walks  among  men,  I  often  think,  There  is  a  man  steal 
ing  a  cannon-ball ;  or,  There  's  a  man  with  a  ball  on 
his  head ;  I  know  it  by  the  way  he  walks.  The  money 
which  a  clerk  purloins  for  his  pocket  at  last  gets  into 
his  hat  like  a  cannon-ball.  Pride,  bad  temper,  selfish 
ness,  evil  passions,  will  roll  upon  a  man  as  if  he  had 
a  ball  on  his  head !  And  ten  thousand  men  in  New 
York  will  die  this  year,  and  as  each  one  falls,  his  hat 
will  come  off,  and  out  will  roll  an  iron  ball,  which  for 
years  he  has  worn  out  his  strength  in  carrying ! 


MY   POCKETS. 

POCKET,  if  not  a  faculty  of  the  human 
mind,  or  an  organ  of  the  human  body, 
must  be  regarded  as  an  indispensable  ad 
junct  to  both.  The  Pocket  is  the  badge  of 
civilization,  and  what  it  contains,  the  very  element  of 
discrimination  between  man  and  man.  My  pockets 
have  been  the  occasion  of  great  trouble  to  me,  ever 

7  j 


146  EYES  AND  EARS. 

since  I  was  married.  It  ought  to  be  understood  that 
I  have  a  wife  whose  very  life-pleasure  consists  in  tak 
ing  good  care  of  her  husband.  1  dare  not  say  that 
she  is  perfect.  Perhaps  that  might  cause  her  death, 
for  the  scarcity  of  such  persons  living  makes  me  sure 
people  die  as  soon  as  they  become  perfect. 

But  she  is  as  nearly  perfect  as  it  was  thought  that 
such  a  poor  sinner  as  I  am  could  endure.  Not  only 
does  she  review  my  clothes,  bring  all  buttons  and  but 
ton-holes  every  week  to  the  general  muster,  return 
my  stockings  to  the  drawer  without  a  hole,  save  the 
necessary  one  for  foot-entrance,  and  give  me  immacu 
late  linen,  but  she  examines  my  pockets,  and  calls  me 
to  a  strict  account  both  for  what  she  finds  there,  and 
yet  oftener  for  what  she  does  not  find ! 

All  those  obliging  little  notes,  those  pleasant  letters 
of  sentiment  which  it  is  so  agreeable  to  receive  and  so 
awkward  to  explain,  if  by  any  negligence  I  leave  them 
in  my  pocket,  bring  me  into  the  most  affectionate  cat 
echism.  So,  too,  if  I  run  up  a  little  cosey  bill  for 
books  or  engravings,  —  a  mere  private  matter  of  my 
own,  in  no  way  chargeable  to  family  expenses,  —  un 
less  I  am  on  hand  before  the  first  of  July  and  Janu 
ary,  (those  two  J's  are  like  executioners'  spears  to 
many  a  moneyless  wretch  !)  the  thoughtless  shop 
keeper  sends  them  to  me  by  post.  Of  course  they 
come  during  my  absence.  They  are  accidentally 
opened!  But,  after  all,  —  what  a  blessing  they  occa 
sion.  But  for  them,  I  should  lose  that  laying  on  of 
the  hand  upon  mine,  that  sad,  earnest  look,  and  those 
excellent  counsels,  which  I  might  call  golden  were  it 
not  that  they  spring  from  the  very  absence  of  gold ! 

Then,  again,  I  am  commissioned  to  deposit  a  letter 


MY   POCKETS.  147 

in  the  office,  and  put  it  for  carriage  into  my  pocket, 
and  wickedly  continue  carrying  it  there  a  whole  week, 
without  excuse  or  extenuation !  And  I  do  wonder 
that  I  am  let  off  as  easily  as  I  am.  And  if  I  take  a 
letter  from  the  office,  instead  of  bringing  it  directly 
home  to  its  superscription,  it  goes  circuiting  about  in 
routes  not  laid  down  in  any  mail  contract.  Of  course 
such  things  bring  a  man  into  disgrace  in  any  well-reg 
ulated  family. 

But  all  these  things  are  mere  mishaps,  compared 
with  the  regular,  chronic,  incurable  fault  of  my  pock 
et  in  money  matters.  It  seems  as  if  I  were  foreor 
dained  to  lose  money.  Yet  I  am  free  from  all  vices  ; 
I  do  not  gamble,  drink,  smoke,  race,  or  bet.  The 
worst  that  I  know  of  myself  is  an  addiction  to  book 
stores,  print-shops,  and  picture-dealers'  haunts.  No,  I 
lose  it.  It  must  be  the  fault  of  my  pocket.  At  first, 
I  pleaded  the  shallowness  of  my  vest  pockets.  My 
wife  then  transferred  my  wallet  to  my  pantaloons,  but 
with  no  change  in  my  misfortunes.  I  had  my  pockets 
examined,  but  no  hole  was  found.  New  ones  were 
made,  deeper  ones,  of  better  cloth,  with  the  best  of 
buttoning  adjustments.  Alas  !  the  same  thing  con 
tinued  !  I  tried  my  neighbor's  tailor.  My  neighbor 
never  lost  money.  A  ten-dollar  bill  went  through  the 
week  unbroken,  as  surely  as  a  ship  goes  through  a 
summer  voyage.  Nobody  had  ever  been  known  to 
pick  his  pockets.  Many  people  had  tried  to  introduce 
a  kind  of  burglarious  instrument,  called  Benevolence, 
known  to  be  very  adroitly  used  in  easing  the  pocket. 
But  all  failed  here.  These  were  the  pockets  for  me  ! 
I  got  a  pair  of  pantaloons  of  the  same  cloth  which  he 
wore,  with  the  same  pockets.  Now  was  I  proud  and 


148  EYES  AND   EARS. 

presumptuous.  And  soon  was  I  abased  to  the  very 
dust  before  my  wife,  having  lost  all  my  money,  and 
being  able  to  give  no  sort  of  satisfactory  account  of  it. 

This  long  series  of  misfortunes  has  very  much 
broken  my  pride  and  quenched  my  hopefulness.  I 
no  longer  dream  that  I  shall  earn  the  name  of  the  full- 
pocketed  gentleman ;  the  man  of  a  long  pocket ;  the 
man  of  an  impregnable  pocket !  And  I  am  sure  that 
hopelessness  is  making  me  more  and  more  careless. 
Almost  anybody  can  get  access  to  my  pocket.  Chil 
dren  subtract  from  me.  The  poor  subtract  from  my 
pockets.  All  unfortunates  seem  to  know  where  my 
pocket  is.  Every  man  that  has  curious  things,  old 
books,  venerable  old  maps,  etchings,  engravings,  or 
pictures,  has  heard  about  my  pockets.  Every  book 
seller  in  town  drives  through  them  as  easily  as 
through  a  city  gate.  Is  there  any  remedy  ? 

Is  there  no  such  thing  as  a  pocket-fastener  ?  Are 
inventions  all  used  up,  or  can  there  yet  be  invented 
something  that  will  stop  up  leaky  pockets  ?  We  can 
caulk  the  seams  of  ships,  mend  leaky  roofs,  keep  in 
and  keep  out  moisture  by  india-rubber  garments  ;  but 
can  there  be  no  remedy  for  leaking  pockets  ?  I  am 
prepared  to  give  one  half  of  all  that  is  saved  to  the 
man  who  will  make  my  pockets  trustworthy,  and  he 
will  find  that  to  be  ample  enough  for  a  contented 
man  to  live  upon  respectably ! 

P.  S.  The  thing  is  invented  !  The  discovery  is 
made  !  It  was  just  whispered  in  my  ear,  as  I  wrote 
the  last  line.  "  Take  your  wife  witli  you  whenever 
you  go  out."  Here,  good  woman,  I  will  pay  as  I 
promised.  You  shall  have  the  half  of  all  you  save ! 


JOYS   AND   SOKKOWS   OF   EGGS.  149 


JOYS    AND    SOKROWS    OF    EGGS. 

OB.N  in  the  country,  our  amusements  were 
few  and  simple ;  but  what  they  lacked  in 
themselves  we  supplied  from  a  buoyant  and 
overflowing  spirit  of  enjoyment.  A  string 
and  a  stick  went  further  with  us,  and  afforded  more 
hearty  enjoyment,  than  forty  dollars'  worth  of  trinkets 
to  our  own  children.  Indeed,  it  would  seem  as  if  the 
enjoying  part  of  our  nature  depended  very  much  upon 
the  necessity  of  providing  its  own  pleasures.  There 
are  not  many  of  our  earlier  experiences  which  we 
should  particularly  care  to  renew.  We  are  content  to 
renew  our  wading  and  grubbing  after  sweet-flag  root 
only  in  memory.  The  nuttings  were  excellent  in  their 
way,  the  gathering  of  berries,  the  building  of  snow- 
houses,  and  the  various  games  of  summer  and  winter, 
on  land,  ice,  or  snow.  We  keep  them  as  a  pleasant 
background  of  recollection,  without  any  special  wish 
to  advance  them  again  into  the  foreground. 

But  one  thing  we  shall  never  get  over.  We  shall 
never  lose  enthusiasm  for  hen's-nests.  The  sudden 
cackling  outcry  of  a  faithful  old  hen,  proclaiming  the 
wonder  of  her  eggs,  we  shall  never  hear  without  the 
old  flush  and  wish  to  seek  and  bring  in  the  vaunted 
trophy.  The  old  barn  was  very  large.  It  abounded 
in  nooks,  sheds,  compartments,  and  what-nots,  admi 
rably  suited  to  a  hen's  love  of  egg-secretiveness.  And 
no  lover  ever  sought  the  post-office  for  an  expected 
letter  with  half  the  alacrity  with  which  we  used  to 
search  for  eggs.  Every  barrel,  every  manger  and  bin, 


150  EYES  AND   EARS. 

every  pile  of  straw  or  stack  of  cornstalks,  every  mow 
and  grain-room,  was  inspected.  And  there  was  al 
ways  the  delightful  hope  that  a  new  nest  would  sud 
denly  open  up  to  us.  For  every  one  properly  born 
and  well  brought  up  knows  that  hen's-nests  are  fortu 
itous,  and  are  always  happening  in  the  most  surpris 
ing  manner,  and  in  the  most  unexpected  places.  And 
though  you  bring  all  your  great  human  brain  to  bear 
upon  the  matter,  a  silly  old  hen  will  tuck  away  a  dozen 
eggs,  right  under  your  eyes,  and  will  walk  forth  daily 
after  each  instalment  with  a  most  domestic  air  and 
tone  of  taunting,  saying,  as  plain  as  inarticulate  sounds 
can  proclaim  it,  "  I  've  laid  an  egg !  I  've  laid  an  egg ! 
I  've  laid  another !  —  You  can't  find  it !  You  won't 
find  it !  I  know  you  won't !  "  And  sure  enough  we 
can't  find  it,  and  don't  find  it,  until,  after  a  due  time, 
the  gratified  old  fuss  leads  forth  all  her  eggs  with  in 
finite  duckings  responsive  to  endless  peepings  !  Be 
hold  1  there  was  the  nest  in  a  clump  of  grass  not  a 
yard  from  a  familiar  path ! 

The  knowledge  that  a  nest  might  dawn  upon  us  at 
any  time  kept  our  youthful  zeal  more  alert  than  ever 
Columbus  was  to  discover  this  little  nest  of  a  conti 
nent.  Sometimes  we  detected  the  sly  treasure  in  the 
box  of  the  chaise  ;  sometimes  an  old  hat  held  more  in 
it  when  cast  into  a  corner  than  in  its  palmy  days.  The 
ash-bin  was  an  excellent  spot.  The  fireplace  under 
an  old  abandoned  Dutch-oven  was  a  favorite  haunt. 
We  have  crept,  flat  as  a  serpent,  under  the  whole 
barn,  fearless  of  all  the  imaginary  monsters  which,  to 
a  boy's  imagination,  populate  dark  holes,  and  have 
come  forth  flaxed  from  head  to  foot  with  spider's- 
webs,  well  rewarded  if  only  a  few  eggs  were  found. 


JOYS   AND   SORKOWS   OF  EGGS.  151 

Ah,  how  it  comes  back  to  us  now !  The  round,  rosy 
face  of  a  younger  brother  ;  the  quiet,  dreaming  search 
of  a  sister,  who  always  was  looking,  and  never  finding 
what  she  did  look  for,  and  always  finding  what  she  did 
not.  And  then,  when  the  spring  was  wide-awake,  rear 
ing  her  brood  of  flowers,  and  the  air  smelt  of  new  grow 
ing  things,  and  showers  were  warm,  and  clouds  were 
white  and  fleecy,  and  wandered  about  the  pale  blue 
heaven,  like  straggling  flocks  of  pasturing  sheep  ;  and 
new-mated  birds  kept  honeymoon  in  every  bush  and 
tree,  and  sang  amatory  poems  that  Burns  might  have 
envied  ;  and  new  furrows  in  every  field  attracted  flocks 
of  worm-loving  blackbirds,  and  everything  was  gay 
and  glad  and  musical,  the  very  flies  having  music  in 
their  wings ;  and  bees,  like  wicked  poets,  singing  of 
the  flowers  which  they  had  robbed  ;  —  (well,  let 's  see, 
this  long  sentence  has  bewildered  us,  and  we  forget 
exactly  what  we  started  for.  0,  now  we  remember.) 
Well,  in  these  fervent,  soft,  brooding  days,  even  hens 
felt  the  celestial  fire,  and  piled  up  their  poetical  du 
ties  in  full  and  overflowing  nests,  till  boys'  hearts  fairly 
throbbed  with  delight,  and  the  pans  in  the  closet 
swelled  up  in  rounded  heaps,  until  egg  could  no 
longer  lie  upon  egg! 

Now  it  sometimes  happened  that,  when  busy  about 
the  "  chores, "  —  foddering  the  horse,  throwing  down 
hay  to  the  cows  (yet  requiring  a  supplemental  lock  at 
night  to  eke  out  the  day's  pasturage),  we  discovered  a 
nest  brimming  full  of  hidden  eggs.  The  hat  was  the 
bonded  warehouse  of  course.  But  sometimes  it  was  a 
cap  not  of  suitable  capacity.  Then  the  pocket  came 
into  play,  and  chiefly  the  skirt  pockets.  Of  course,  we 
intended  to  transfer  them  immediately  after  getting 


152  EYES  AND  EAES. 

into  the  house,  for  eggs  are  as  dangerous  in  the  pocket, 
though  for  different  reasons,  as  powder  would  be  in  a 
forgeman's  pocket.  And  so,  having  finished  the  even 
ing's  work,  and  put  the  pin  into  the  stable-door,  we 
sauntered  toward  the  house,  behind  which,  and  right 
over  Chestnut  Hill,  the  broad  moon  stood  showering 
all  the  east  with  silver  twilight!  All  earthly  cares 
and  treasures  were  forgot  in  the  dreamy  pleasure,  and 
at  length  entering  the  house,  —  supper  already  de 
layed  for  us,  —  we  drew  up  the  chair,  and  peacefully 
sunk  into  it,  with  a  suppressed  and  indescribable  crunch 
and  liquid  crackle  underneath  us,  which  brought  us  up 
again  in  the  liveliest  manner,  and  with  outcries  which 
seemed  made  up  of  all  the  hen's  cackles  of  all  the  eggs 
which  were  now  holding  carnival  in  our  pockets  !  Fa- 
cilis  descensus  Averno,  sed  revocare  gradum,  &c.,  which 
means,  It  is  easy  to  put  eggs  into  your  pocket,  but  how 
to  get  them  out  again,  that's  the  question.  And  it 
was  the  question  !  Such  a  hand-dripping  business,  — 
such  a  scene  when  the  slightly  angry  mother  and  the 
disgusted  maid  turned  the  pockets  inside  out ! 

We  were  very  penitent.!  It  should  never  happen 
again !  And  it  did  not  —  for  a  month  or  two.  Then 
a  sudden  nest,  very  full,  tempted  us,  and  we  fortified 
our  courage,  as,  of  course,  the  same  accident  could 
not  happen  twice.  The  memory  of  the  old  disaster 
would  certainly  prevent  any  such  second  ridiculous 
experience ! 

But  it  chanced  there  was  company  in  the  house. 
Cousins  and  gladly-received  neighbors.  And  amidst 
the  gratulations  and  the  laugh  and  the  hand-shak 
ings,  they  began  to  sit  down,  and  we  also  sat  qui 
etly  down,  but  rose  up  a  great  deal  quicker!  Our 
disgrace  was  total.  Such  a  tale  as  we  unfolded ! 


JOYS  AND  SORROWS  OF  EGGS.         153 

Three  times  within  our  melancholy  remembrance 
did  we  perform  this  shameful  act,  until  a  hen's-nest 
affected  us  with  peculiar  horror. 

Are  we  the  only  man  that  sits  down  on  eggs?  Is 
not  the  whole  world  hunting  nests,  and  laying  up  their 
treasures  in  pockets  behind  them,  and  sitting  down 
on  all  their  spoils,  when  it  is  too  late  ?  Are  there  not 
other  things  beside  eggs,  which  are  very  fair  on  the 
outside,  and  very  clean  if  tenderly  handled,  which, 
when  broken,  are  most  foul  to  the  raiment  and  the 
touch  ?  Are  there  no  men  whose  experience  of  long- 
sought  love  is  but  eggs  in  the  pocket  of  one  who  sits 
down?  Are  there  no  men  filling  their  pockets  with 
thin-shelled,  golden  eggs,  which  fortune  lays,  and 
which  they  mean  to  carry  home,  and  employ  for  all 
domestic  uses,  but  which  in  the  end  are  crushed  and 
only  soil  their  pockets  ? 

We  said  we  performed  the  feat  three  times.  Why 
should  we  conceal  the  fact  that  we  have  understated 
the  number?  Let  us  make  a  clean  pocket  of  the 
matter,  and  confess  that  it  happened  oftener,  and 
even  after  we  were  grown  up  and  married !  The 
wife's  admirable  conduct  on  the  occasion  established 
her  reputation.  And  if  any  one,  before  venturing 
upon  the  untried  navigation  of  matrimony,  would 
test  the  patience  and  gentleness  of  any  angelic  per 
son,  we  would  advise  him  to  sit  down  on  a  dozen 
eggs  in  her  presence,  and  witness  then  the  devel 
opments  of  her  disposition  in  the  disaster.  There 
are  a  hundred  women  who  would  follow  Florence 
Nightingale  into  a  plague  hospital,  where  there  is 
one  who  would  put  her  hand  into  his  pocket  after 
such  a  drear  experience  as  we  have  recorded ! 


154  EYES  AND  EARS. 


THE    DUTY    OF    OWNING    BOOKS. 

]B  form  judgments  of  men  from  little  things 
about  their  houses  of  which  the  owner  per 
haps  never  thinks.  In  earlier  years,  when 
travelling  in  the  West,  where  taverns  were 
scarce  and  in  some  places  unknown,  and  every  settler's 
house  was  a  house  of  "  Entertainment,"  it  was  a  mat 
ter  of  some  importance  and  some  experience  to  select 
wisely  where  you  would  put  up.  And  we  always 
looked  for  flowers.  If  there  were  no  trees  for  shade, 
no  patch  of  flowers  in  the  yard,  we  were  suspicious 
of  the  place.  But,  no  matter  how  rude  the  cabin  or 
rough  the  surroundings,  if  we  saw  that  the  window 
held  a  little  trough  for  flowers,  and  that  some  vines 
twined  about  strings  let  down  from  the  eaves,  we 
were  confident  that  there  was  some  taste  and  care 
fulness  in  the  log-cabin.  In  a  new  country,  where 
people  have  to  tug  for  a  living,  no  one  will  take  the 
trouble  to  rear  flowers  unless  the  love  of  them  is 
pretty  strong ;  and  this  taste|  blossoming  out  of  plain 
and  uncultivated  people  is  itself  like  a  clump  of  hare 
bells  growing  out  of  the  seams  of  a  rock.  We  were 
seldom  misled.  A  patch  of  flowers  came  to  signify 
kind  people,  clean  beds,  and  good  bread. 

But  in  other  states  of  society  other  signs  are  more 
significant.  Flowers  about  a  rich  man's  house  may 
signify  only  that  he  has  a  good  gardener,  or  that  he 
has  refined  neighbors,  and  does  what  he  sees  them  do. 
But  men  are  not  accustomed  to  buy  books  unless  they 
want  them.  If  on  visiting  the  dwelling  of  a  man  of 


THE  DUTY  OF  OWNING  BOOKS.         155 

slender  means  we  find  that  he  contents  himself  with 
cheap  carpets,  and  very  plain  furniture,  in  order  that 
he  may  purchase  books,  he  rises  at  once  in  our  esteem. 
Books  are  not  made  for  furniture,  but  there  is  noth 
ing  else  that  so  beautifully  furnishes  a  house.  The 
plainest  row  of  books  that  cloth  or  paper  ever  .covered 
is  more  significant  of  refinement  than  the  most  elabo 
rately  carved  etag-Sre  or  sideboard. 

Give  us  a  house  furnished  with  books  rather  than 
furniture  !  Both,  if  you  can,  but  books  at  any  rate  ! 
To  spend  several  days  in  a  friend's  house,  and  hunger 
for  something  to  read,  while  you  are  treading  on  costly 
carpets,  and  sitting  upon  luxurious  chairs,  and  sleep 
ing  upon  down,  is  as  if  one  were  bribing  your  body 
for  the  sake  of  cheating  your  mind. 

Is  it  not  pitiable  to  see  a  man  growing  rich,  aug 
menting  the  comforts  of  home,  and  lavishing  money  on 
ostentatious  upholstery,  upon  the  table,  upon  every 
thing  but  what  the  soul  needs  ?  We  know  of  many 
and  many  a  rich  man's  house  where  it  would  not  be 
safe  to  ask  for  the  commonest  English  classics.  A 
few  gairish  annuals  on  the  table,  a  few  pictorial  mon 
strosities,  together  with  the  stock  religious  books  of  his 
"  persuasion,"  and  that  is  all !  No  poets,  no  essayists, 
no  historians,  no  travels  or  biographies,  no  select  fic 
tions,  or  curious  legendary  lore.  But  the  wall-paper 
cost  three  dollars  a  roll,  and  the  carpets  four  dollars  a 
yard! 

Books  are  the  windows  through  which  the  soul  looks 
out.  A  house  without  books  is  like  a  room  without 
windows.  No  man  has  a  right  to  bring  up  his  chil 
dren  without  surrounding  them  with  books,  if  he  has 
the  means  to  buy  them.  It  is  a  wrong  to  his  family. 


156  EYES  AND   EARS. 

He  cheats  them !  Children  learn  to  read  by  being  in 
the  presence  of  books.  The  love  of  knowledge  comes 
with  reading  and  grows  upon  it.  And  the  love  of 
knowledge,  in  a  young  mind,  is  almost  a  warrant 
against  the  inferior  excitement  of  passions  and  vices. 
Let  us  pity  these  poor  rich  men  who  live  barrenly 
in  great,  bookless  houses!  Let  us  congratulate  the 
poor  that,  in  our  day,  books  are  so  cheap  that  a  man 
may  every  year  add  a  hundred  volumes  to  his  library 
for  the  price  of  what  his  tobacco  and  his  beer  would 
cost  him.  Among  the  earliest  ambitions  to  be  excited 
in  clerks,  workmen,  journeymen,  and,  indeed,  among 
all  that  are  struggling  up  in  life  from  nothing  to  some 
thing,  is  that  of  owning,  and  constantly  adding  to,  a 
library  of  good  books.  A  little  library  growing  larger 
every  year  is  an  honorable  part  of  a  young  man's  his 
tory.  It  is  a  man's  duty  to  have  books.  A  library  is 
not  a  luxury,  but  one  of  the  necessaries  of  life. 


MY    PROPERTY. 

KNOW  few  men  as  rich  as  I  am.  I  scarcely 
know  where  I  amassed  all  my  treasures. 
I  have  but  a  few  things  at  home,  and  they 
are  very  precious,  animate  and  inanimate. 
But,  dear  me,  if  you  suppose  that  that  is  all  I  own, 
you  never  were  more  mistaken  in  your  life ! 

I  have  every  ship  that  comes  into  New  York  harbor, 
but  without  any  of  the  gross  trouble  which  those  de 
luded  men  have  who  think  they  own  them.  I  never 


MY   PEOPERTY.  157 

concern  myself  about  the  crews  or  officers,  about  freight 
or  voyage,  about  expenses  or  losses.  All  this  would  be 
wearisome.  I  have  certain  men  who  look  after  these 
things,  while  I  am  left  to  the  pure  enjoyment  of  their 
beauty,  their  coming  and  going,  the  singing  of  the 
anchor-hoisting  crew. 

I  go  about  the  wharves,  watch  the  packages  going 
in  or  coming  out  of  ships.  The  outlandish  inscrip 
tions,  the  ceroons  of  indigo  piled  up,  the  stacks  of  tea- 
chests,  the  bales  and  boxes,  the  wine  and  spices,  all 
pass  under  my  inspection.  I  say  inwardly  to  the  men : 
"  Let  these  things  be  taken  care  of  without  troubling 
me,"  and  I  am  obeyed.  I  have  also  many  ship-yards, 
where  they  are  building  all  kinds  of  craft.  Other  men 
pay  the  money  ;  I  take  the  pleasure,  and  they  the  anx 
ious  care ! 

The  Yacht  Club  have  been  very  obliging  to  me.  At 
great  expense  they  have  equipped  unequalled  boats, 
that  suit  me  to  a  nicety.  I  ask  nothing  better.  They 
are  graceful  as  swans,  beautiful  as  butterflies.  If  I 
had  them  all  to  care  for,  my  pleasure  would  cost  me 
rather  dear.  But,  with  extreme  delicacy,  the  gentle 
men  of  the  Club  relieve  me  of  all  that  gross  and  mate 
rial  part  of  it,  and  leave  me  the  boats,  the  pleasure, 
the  poetry  of  the  thing ;  and  once  or  twice  in  a  season 
I  go  down  the  bay,  on  a  breezy  morning,  and  see  these 
fine  fellows  sail  their  craft,  and  I  do  believe  that  if 
they  were  doing  it  for  their  own  selves,  instead  of  for 
my  enjoyment,  they  would  not  exert  themselves  more. 

Then,  how  much  have  I  to  thank  the  enterprising 
shopkeepers,  who  dress  out  their  windows  with  such 
beautiful  things,  changing  them  every  few  days  lest  I 
should  tire.  It  is  a  question  of  duty  and  delicacy  with 


158  EYES  AND  EARS. 

me  whether  I  ought  not  to  go  in  often  as  thus :  "  Good 
morning,  Mr.  Stewart,  Good  morning,  Mr.  Lord,  or 
Mr.  Taylor.  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you  for  those  fine 
goods  in  the  window.  I  have  enjoyed  them  amazingly, 
as  I  did  the  other  patterns  of  last  week.  Pray,  sirs, 
do  not  put  yourselves  to  all  this  trouble  on  my  account. 
Yet,  if  your  kindness  insists  upon  it,  I  shall  be  but  too 
happy  to  come  and  look  every  day  at  such  rare  pro 
ductions  of  the  loom."  In  the  same  way  I  am  put 
under  very  great  obligations  to  Messrs.  Appleton  & 
Co.  It  is  affecting  to  see  such  kindness  as  they  have 
shown,  in  going  to  great  expense  to  procure  fine  ster 
eoscopic  views  for  the  entertainment  of  their  friends. 
It  must  be  a  great  expense  to  them.  But  then  they 
are  displayed,  free  as  grass  in  meadow  or  dandelions 
by  the  roadside,  and  any  one  can  look  for  nothing,  and 
without  any  other  risk  than  that  of  purchasing !  On 
the  same  side  of  Broadway  is  a  firm  so  benevolent  that 
some  Dickens  ought  to  embalm  them  as  a  "  Cheeryble 
Brothers,"  —  of  course,  I  mean  Messrs.  Williams  and 
Stevens,  who  pay  out  great  sums  every  year,  in  order 
to  fill  their  windows  with  pleasant  sights  for  passers- 
by.  Some  surly  old  rich  men  there  are  in  New  York 
who  hoard  and  hide  their  pictorial  treasures.  Not  so 
these  benevolent  gentlemen.  They  let  their  light  shine  ; 
and  with  rare  .delicacy,  lest  the  eye  should  tire  of  rep 
etition,  they  change  their  pictures  every  week.  Then 
here  is  Mr.  Seitz,  who  has  ransacked  all  Europe  for 
brilliant  impressions  of  the  rarest  classical  engravings, 
and  has  brought  together  a  collection  which  cannot 
probably  be  equalled  or  approached  by  any  similar 
concern  in  the  world.  Only  to  think  of  such  pains 
taking  kindness !  And  then  if  one  loves  books,  how 


MY   PROPERTY.  159 

many  are  there  besides  Messrs.  Appleton  or  Mr.  Scrib- 
ner  who  will  rejoice  in  seeing  you  before  their  shelves, 
warming  in  kindred  feeling  to  these  children  dressed 
in  calf.  I  am  sometimes  overwhelmed  with  the  sense 
of  my  riches  in  crockery  and  china,  in  sewing-ma 
chines,  in  jewelry,  in  furniture,  in  fine  wall-paper,  in 
new  inventions. 

And  then  how  many  men  build  handsome  houses 
for  me  to  look  at,  and  fill  their  yards  with  flowers  for 
me  to  nod  to,  and  place  the  most  beautiful  faces  of  the 
family  in  the  window  to  cheer  me  as  I  pass !  Surely 
this  is  a  kind-hearted  world !  And  then  how  many 
fine  country-seats  are  built,  and  grounds  laid  out, 
for  my  enjoyment.  The  fee  simple  may  be  in  some 
other  man,  but  I  own  them.  For  he  owns  a  thing 
who  understands  it  best,  and  gets  the  most  enjoyment 
from  it ! 

This  world  was  made  for  poor  men,  and  therefore 
the  greatest  part  of  it  was  left  out  of  doors,  where  ev 
erybody  could  enjoy  it.  And  though  men  have  been 
building  and  fencing  for  six  thousand  years,  they  have 
succeeded  in  getting  very  little  of  the  universal  treas 
ure  sequestered  and  out  of  sight.  Suppose  you  can 
not  plough  that  fertile  field,  or  own  the  crops,  or  reap 
the  harvests,  is  there  no  pleasure  to  you  in  a  fine  field, 
a  growing  crop,  a  good  harvest  ?  In  fact,  I  sometimes 
fancy  that  I  enjoy  ploughing  and  mowing  more  when 
other  people  are  engaged  in  them  than  if  I  were  work 
ing  myself.  Sweat  away,  my  hearties,  I  say  ;  I  am  in 
the  shade  of  this  tree  watching  you,  and  enjoying  the 
scene  amazingly.  I  love  to  go  into  the  pasture  and 
look  over  those  sleek  Devonshires.  The  owner  is  very 
kind.  He  has  paid  thousands  of  dollars  for  them  ;  he 


160  EYES  AND  EARS. 

has  spent  I  know  not  how  much  for  the  barns  and 
premises ;  he  keeps  several  careful  men  to  tend  them, 
and  all  for  my  enjoyment  and  yours  !  We  walk  through 
the  fields,  handle  their  silky  vests,  discuss  their  points, 
and  enjoy  the  whole  herd,  full  as  much  as  the  so-called 
owner ! 

Sometimes  I  go  out  to  look  after  my  farms,  for  I 
own  all  the  best  ones  hereabouts.  And  the  orchards, 
the  gardens,  the  greenhouses,  the  stately  forests  and 
exquisite  meadows  that  I  possess,  divested  too  of  all 
vexation  of  taxes,  care,  or  work,  are  enough  to  make 
one's  heart  swell  with  gratitude. 

Besides  all  this,  there  is  a  royal  artist  that  rises  ear 
lier  than  I  do  every  day,  and  works  gloriously  every 
hour,  painting  pictures  in  the  heavens,  and  over  all 
the  earth,  giving  inimitable  colors,  unexampled  chiaro- 
oscuro,  filling  the  day  and  the  world  with  scenes  that 
the  canvas  never  equalled.  And  this  stately  gallery, 
with  a  dome  like  heaven,  stands  open  without  fee  or 
impudent  janitor,  to  every  poor  man  that  has  eyes. 
And  the  best  of  all  is,  that,  glorious  as  is  this  mani 
festation,  it  is  but  a  hint  and  outlying  suggestion  of 
a  world  transcendently  better,  not  made  with  hands, 
eternal  in  the  heavens ! 


MEN  NEED  WHAT  THEY  DO  NOT  WANT.  161 


MEN    NEED    WHAT    THEY    DO    NOT    WANT. 

F  one  will  take  the  trouble  to  watch  his  own 
mind,  or  —  which  he  will  find  to  be  a  great 
deal  more  natural  —  to  watch  the  conduct 
of  his  neighbors,  he  will  observe  how  readily 
men  listening  to  discourse  believe  more  firmly  what 
they  believed  before,  and  allow  themselves  to  be  influ 
enced  in  the  very  qualities  which  are  already  strongest 
and  most  active. 

Men  love  to  read  "  on  their  own  side,"  to  hear 
the  things  which  they  already  believe  enforced  with 
new  arguments ;  to  hear  their  ministers  or  political 
speakers  praise  the  things  in  which  already  they 
are  fully  established.  But  they  are  seldom  willing 
to  hear  another  side,  to  have  enforced  the  truths 
which  they  do  not  believe,  and  the  qualities  which 
they  do  not  possess.  In  this  way  men  grow  narrow : 
they  intensify  their  opinions,  rather  than  enlarge 
their  knowledge,  and  become  selfish  and  bigoted. 

If  I  were  to  urge  the  benefits  of  an  easy  and  good- 
natured  contentment  in  life,  the  anxious  and  the 
careful  would  shake  their  heads,  and  fear  that  these 
qualities  would  lead  to  carelessness  and  mischief. 
Whereas,  all  the  heedless  and  jovial,  who  live  for  one 
day  at  a  time,  and  never  provide  for  to-morrow, 
would  jump  at  the  doctrine  and  rejoice  in  its  wisdom. 
But  those  who  refuse  it  are  most  in  need  of  it,  and 
those  who  accept  it  do  not  need  it  at  all. 

If  I  urge  the  claims  of  sobriety  and  foresight,  those 
who  are  already  too  anxious  about  the  future,  and 

K 


162  EYES   AND   EARS. 

too  sober  for  the  present,  will  listen  eagerly  and  nod 
approval,  and  talk  all  the  way  home  of  the  wisdom 
of  my  speech.  But  it  was  not  for  their  sakes  that 
this  truth  was  propounded,  but  for  the  careless,  gig 
gling,  heedless  creatures  who  take  none  of  it  to  them 
selves.  If  I  praise  generosity,  they  who  are  already 
carelessly  generous  receive  a  fresh  impulse  in  that 
direction.  If  I  exhort  to  frugality  and  economy,  all 
the  shrewd  and  close-managing  men  in  the  congrega 
tion  repeat  the  words,  and  nudge  their  neighbors, 
and  look  around  .exulting.  But  if  I  sharply  expose 
the  meanness  of  being  penurious  and  stingy,  all  the 
parsimonious  men  are  deaf,  while  the  spendthrifts 
fairly  laugh  out  with  approbation. 

When  I  inveigli  against  pride,  the  proud  are  the 
last  that  take  it;  but  if  I  expound  the  benefits  of  a 
firm  self-reliance  and  self-respect,  all  those  already 
too  strong  in  self-esteem  straighten  up,  and  say, 
Amen! 

Men  strengthen  each  other  in  their  faults.  Those 
who  are  alike  associate  together,  repeat  the  things 
which  all  believe,  defend  and  stimulate  their  com 
mon  faults  of  disposition,  and  each  one  receives 
from  the  others  a  reflection  of  his  own  egotism.  If 
the  slow  and  prudent  would  associate  with  the  san 
guine  and  zealous,  the  peculiar  faults  of  each  would 
be  mutually  corrective.  If  the  timid  and  the  cour 
ageous  would  walk  together,  one  would  rise  toward 
firmness  and  the  other  sink  a  little  back  from  rash 
ness.  Men  of  a  practical  mind,  who  regard  the  im 
agination  with  contempt,  are  just  the  men  that  ought 
to  associate  with  imaginative  people,  and  clothe  their 
barrenness  with  some  beauty,  and  gain  that  finer 


MEN  NEED  WHAT   THEY  DO  NOT   WANT.  163 

insight  which  the  imagination  gives  to  the  under 
standing. 

People  naturally  select  those  companions  who  please 
rather  than  those  who  profit  them  most,  and  gratify 
their  conceit  at  the  expense  of  improvement. 

There  is  manifest  a  wisdom  in  the  divine  order  of 
society ;  men  are  thrown  together  without  regard  to 
their  affinities  and  preferences.  The  old  and  young, 
the  gay  and  sober,  the  thriftless  and  frugal,  the  selfish 
and  generous,  the  poor  and  the  rich,  the  high  and 
the  low,  all  dispositions,  all  pursuits,  all  sides  of  belief 
of  all  sorts,  secular  things  and  religious,  authority 
and  lawlessness,  knowledge  and  ignorance,  riches  and 
poverty,  cheerfulness  and  gloom,  hopefulness  and 
despondency,  the  nimble  and  the  sluggish,  the  quick- 
seeing  and  the  dull-eyed,  —  all  are  thrown  together 
into  the  vast  compound  of  human  society,  and  made 
by  their  interests  to  defer  one  to  another,  to  wait 
upon  each  other,  to  give  up  their  own  preferences,  to 
respect  in  others  traits  which  they  do  not  themselves 
possess.  And  so  the  Divine  Wisdom  has  made  hu 
man  life  to  be  a  school  and  educatory  discipline. 
And  we  are  not  to  regard  it  as  our  misfortune  that 
we  must  mix  with  men  and  feel  all  their  humors,  and 
carry  some  part  of  their  follies  as  burdens.  No 
schoolmaster  could  teach  men  as  much  wisdom  as 
those  things  do  which  men  count  it  a  misfortune  to 
meet  or  to  endure !  And  all  the  dreams  and  aspira 
tions  which  men  entertain,  of  retiring  from  society, 
of  getting  out  from  life  into  some  secluded  nook, 
are  not  only  unwise,  but  contrary  to  the  ordinance 
of  Divine  Providence.  For  men  need  men.  And 
while  it  is  pleasanter  to  meet  men  whose  likeness 


164  EYES  AND  EARS. 

to  ourselves  shall  flatter  our  vanity  or  pride,  it  is 
better  to  be  obliged  to  associate  with  those  who  will 
teach  us  new  things,  or  even  with  those  whose  very 
faults  will  induce  patience,  forbearance,  and  philan 
thropy. 


CONSULTING    AN    ECHO. 

YERY  self-willed  and  passionate  man  there 
was,  in  our  boyhood  days,  who  had  long  and 
loud  disputes,  sometimes  with  his  wife  and 
sometimes  with  his  neighbors.  Of  course 
he  was  always  in  the  right,  and  they,  whoever  they 
might  be,  were  always  in  the  wrong.  It  chanced  that 
there  was  in  his  neighborhood  a  place  remarkable  for 
its  echo.  One  echo  was  always  to  be  had,  and  in  cer 
tain  positions,  two  and  three.  The  vehement  old  gen 
tleman  used,  when  the  dispute  did  not  please  him,  to 
walk  off  in  the  direction  of  the  echo-hills,  talking  to 
himself,  and  at  every  step  more  and  more  positively 
laying  down  his  propositions,  until,  by  the  time  he 
reached  the  ground,  he  would  shout  out,  "  I  know  I 
am  right!"  and  immediately  it  was  sent  back  to  him, 

-  "  Know  am  right !  "  —  "  Am  right !  "  —  "  Right ! " 
"  I  say  she  lies  !  "  he  would  cry  out,  encouraged  with 
the  first  effort ;  and  the  echo  replied,  "  Say  she  lies," 

-  u  She  lies,"  — "  Lies  !  "     Catching  up  the  hint,  he 
would  answer,  —  "  Well,  I  do  say  so."     And  he  was 
gratified  with  hearing,  "  Do  say  so,"  — "  Say  so." 

This  walk  became  a  great  consolation  to  the  prag 
matical  old  man.     And  he  seemed,  at  length,  to  think 


CONSULTING  AN  ECHO.  165 

i 

that  there  was  wafted  to  him  some  intelligent  con 
firmation  of  his  notions.  Thus  he  was  wont  to  hear 
himself,  and  listen  to  his  own  words  reflected  from 
the  sides  of  the  hill. 

There  are  a  great  many  persons  of  strong  nature, 
inflexible  will,  self-opinionated,  and  intense  in  feeling, 
who  never  see  anything  in  life,  except  themselves 
reflected  from  those  whom  they  meet.  It  is  not  their 
wish  to  be  advised,  or  to  be  modified  in  their  notions. 
They  give  forth  their  own  intense  convictions,  and 
pour  forth  their  feelings  out  upon  things  and  persons 
to  such  a  degree,  that  everything  is  but  a  reflection  of 
themselves. 

Such  persons  will  bear  down  upon  men,  in  asking 
their  opinions,  with  such  a  statement  of  their  own, 
that  timid  and  complying  natures  say  yes  to  them,  of 
course  ;  and  those  who  wish  to  please,  or  do  not  wisli 
to  offend,  say  yes,  too.  And  those  who  say  nothing 
are  considered,  of  course,  as  giving  tacit  assent.  And 
sensible  men,  of  contrary  opinions,  would  no  more 
think  of  resisting  them,  than  they  would  of  catching  a 
wild  horse  that  ran  with  headlong  fury  through  the 
streets.  But  how  satisfied  is  he,  after  such  a  career ! 
Rubbing  his  hands,  he  says,  with  lordly  satisfaction, 
"  I  have  asked  a  great  many  sensible  people  about 
this  matter,  and  I  have  yet  to  find  one  who  does  not 
think  as  I  do."  The  fact  is,  that  he  has  been  out 
hallooing  and  listening  to  his  own  echo  ! 

If  a  man  is  prosperous  and  influential,  there  are 
multitudes  who  only  desire  to  know  what  he  would 
like  to  have  advised.  It  is  not  always  easy  to  get 
another's  real  mind.  They  stand  off,  they  hesitate 
and  question  as  if  to  get  at  the  truth,  whereas  they 


166  EYES   AND  EARS. 

are  only  getting  at  you.-  So  soon  as  your  bent  and 
wish  are  discovered,  they  will,  with  great  apparent 
candor,  advise  you  just  as  you  longed  to  have  them ! 
and  you  have  got  yourself  twice  over,  —  your  own 
mind  and  its  echo  ! 

It  is  amusing  to  listen  to  a  dozen  gentlemen  at  a 
political  consultation,  or  at  a  board  of  directors  for 
some  institution,  or  of  a  railroad  company,  upon  a 
question  which  divides  and  excites  all  the  number. 
Each  of  at  least  half  a  dozen  men  will  assure  you  that 
he  has  not  yet  met  a  single  man  who  does  not  think 
as  he  does.  At  least  two  or  three  irreconcilable 
opinions  will  be  declared  to  be  the  current  opinion 
of  the  community !  Each  man  goes  to  those  natu 
rally  accessible  to  himself,  and  hears  himself  reflected 
from  them,  and  reports  to  his  confederates  one 
opinion,  and  that  his  own,  echoed  five  or  six  times ! 
Men  usually  find  what  they  wish  to  find.  What  they 
look  for,  that  they  see. 

Let  a  pretty  woman,  of  agreeable  manners,  and 
musical  way  of  talking,  who  is  greatly  exercised  with 
some  profound  question  of  a  Fair  or  Festival,  and  who 
leads  the  "  Opposition,"  go  among  the  admiring  gen 
tlemen  who  are  her  friends,  and  see  if  she  does  not 
come  back  in  triumph  to  report  that  every  one  agreed 
with  her ! 

Let  some  amiable  pastor  go  out  to  see  what  his 
people  think  about  his  remaining  with  them,  and  we 
will  venture  to  say  that  he  will  be  almost  unani 
mously  fooled  into  the  impression  that  every  man  in 
the  parish  wishes  him  to  stay  as  much  as  he  himself 
does !  Consultation,  with  obstinate  men,  is  only  an 
other  way  of  propagating  their  own  opinions. 


THE  VIETUE  AND   FANATICISM   OF  NEATNESS.       167 

The  same  thing  takes  place  in  public  assemblies. 
Men  who  speak  to  temperance  meetings  are  expected 
to  say  what  the  meeting  already  believes ;  the  Dem 
ocratic  or  Republican  speaker  is  the  echo  of  the 
audience,  with  variations ;  that  preacher  is  sound, 
with  his  own  people,  who  eloquently  varies  and 
embellishes  their  own  beliefs. 

Every  considerate  man  should  be  aware  of  this 
subtle  echo  of  selfishness  or  conceit.  And  a  wise 
man  should  eagerly  entertain  those  counsellings 
which  are  the  least  like  his  own.  It  is  what  others 
think  that  we  need  to  ponder.  Conceit  is  narrow. 
No  man  can  be  very  broad  who  will  build  with 
nothing  but  that  which  he  quarries  from  himself. 
There  are  men  enough  who  think,  when  they  hear 
themselves  echoed,  that  a  god  spoke. 


THE   VIRTUE  AND  FANATICISM   OF  NEATNESS. 

has  been  said  that  poetry  must  be  a  birth 
right.  It  cannot  spring  from  education 
merely.  We  are  sure  that  the  same  is  yet 
more  eminently  true  of  neatness !  A  man 
must  have  an  original  genius  for  it,  or  he  will  not 
excel.  We  have  good  reasons  for  saying  so.  We 
admire  pictures,  without  being  able  to  paint  them, 
and  we  admire  neatness  in  the  same  way.  We  have 
a  sort  of  reverence  for  a  comprehensively  neat  and 
orderly  person,  as  of  a  being  of  superior  endowments. 
We  could  never  gain  an  insight  into  that  rare  and 


168  EYES  AND  EARS. 

wonderful  mental  mechanism  by  which  everything  is 
made  to  arrange  itself  without  commotion,  and  things 
come  to  pass  neatly.  It  is  a  matter  of  genius  un 
doubtedly.  Education  may  develop  it,  direct  it,  but 
never  creates  it.  All  the  education  in  the  world 
could  not  enable  us  to  fold  a  shirt  so  that  it  would 
come  forth  with  the  creases  in  the  right  place.  We 
can  roll  up  a  bundle,  we  can  tumble  up  a  garment, 
we  can  crowd  into  very  narrow  compass  any  amount 
of  linen.  But  when  it  comes  forth  again,  who  can 
describe  its  condition  ?  But  another  hand  is  put 
forth.  Every  thread  knows  its  master.  Each  plait 
and  every  fold  submit  themselves.  Creases  vanish 
in  despair.  And  a  heterogeneous  heap  comes  quietly 
into  order  and  contact,  so  that  a  trunk  is  packed 
with  as  much  harmony  as  are  the  muscles  and  tis 
sues  of  the  human  body. 

Then  there  is  the  mystery  of  bureau-drawers.  We 
never  put  anything  into  them  that  it  does  not  seem 
to  shove  everything  else.  We  never  take  anything 
out,  without  discomposing  all  that  remains.  There 
is  a  fatality  of  disorder  in  our  touch.  But  another 
soothes  the  drawer,  brings  peace  to  linen,  and  com 
posure  to  ruffled  handkerchiefs  and  heterogeneous 
stockings.  If  we  hang  up  anything  in  the  closet,  it 
is  sure  to  fall  down  again.  If  we  want  a  coat,  it  is 
sure  to  be  under  two  or  three  other  garments,  which 
always  get  out  of  the  way  in  any  but  the  right  way. 
Our  boots  and  shoes  take  every  liberty  with  us,  and 
despise  regularity  in  arrangement.  Indeed,  our  visit 
to  any  place  is  a  sure  indication  that  the  place  needs 
some  attention.  But  if  these  easy  things  are  difficult, 
what  shall  be  said  of  books,  of  papers,  of  letters,  of 


THE   VIRTUE  AND   FANATICISM   OF  NEATNESS.       169 

engravings,  of  pictures,  and  of  all  the  multitude  of 
nameless  things  that  make  up  a  collector's  cabinet? 
Who  can  describe  a  gentleman's  house  when  his  fam 
ily  is  away  ?  Books  accumulate  on  the  floor ;  papers 
load  down  the  table  ;  pitchers,  tumblers,  plates,  blink 
from  among  statuettes  and  vases  on  the  mantelpiece ; 
framed  engravings  and  pictures  are  stacked  against 
the  wall  six  or  seven  deep ;  portfolios  spread  abroad 
their  huge  sides  flat  upon  the  floor ;  shawls  and  dress 
ing-gowns  are  tucked  upon  the  sofa;  hats,  caps, 
gloves,  and  shoes  are  promiscuous  and  diffusive ; 
heaps  of  everything  abound  everywhere.  There  is  a 
place  for  everything,  and  everything  is  in  its  place, 
and  that  place  is  —  the  floor.  The  ashes  are  forgot 
ten  and  protrude  far  beyond  decency  and  the  fender ; 
canes  and  fishing-rods  confer  together  in  the  corner, 
and  cups  and  balls  roll  and  jingle  in  every  drawer. 
All  the  tumblers  in  the  house  have  been  used  for 
flowers,  and  all  the  pitchers  have  been  brought  up 
with  water.  And  yet  the  man  loves  order,  and  no 
one  has  a  keener  sense  of  gratitude  when  the  restor 
ing  hand  at  last  arrives,  and  all  things,  as  if  conscious 
of  a  new  influence,  begin  their  march  to  their  own 
domain. 

But  order  and  neatness  are  different  things.  A 
man  may  be  forgiven  for  disorder,  but  not  for  dirti 
ness,  and  especially  if  it  be  personal.  There  are 
many  persons  scrupulously  neat  who  are  not  orderly, 
and  sometimes  we  find  a  man  who  is  orderly  but  not 
neat ;  but  generally  neatness  and  order  are  twin  sis 
ters.  And  how  beautiful! 

We  can  pity  and  forgive  the  want  of  these  qualities 
in  man,  but  not  in  woman.  All- virtues  and  graces  go 


170  EYES  AND   EARS. 

for  nothing  in  a  slattern.  A  woman  must  be  super 
human,  indeed  angelic,  who  could  please  without  neat 
ness.  Probably  the  conviction  of  this  truth  accounts 
for  the  universal  grace  of  neatness  among  women. 
There  are  occasional  rumors  of  a  contrary  state  of 
tilings.  But  we  always  tread  them  under  foot  indig 
nantly  as  wanton  slanders.  Women  are  neat.  If 
not,  they  are  not  women. 

Nay.  Women  are  in  danger  of  excess  in  careful 
ness.  They  run  into  radical  notions  of  order,  and 
even  flame  forth  into  fanaticisms  of  neatness.  Then 
neatness  becomes  most  afflictive.  It  has  long  been  a 
question  with  me,  which  was  most  dreadful,  a  disor 
derly  house,  or  a  dwelling  given  up  to  the  insanity  of 
neatness.  In  the  sacred  precinct  of  that  dwelling 
where  the  despotic  woman  wields  the  sceptre  of  fierce 
neatness,  one  treads  as  if  he  carried  his  life  in  his 
hands.  Order  is  the  centre,  and  neatness  the  su 
preme  law,  of  the  house.  Nothing  is  pardonable, 
nothing  tolerated  which  does  not  nimbly  and  abjectly 
bow  down  to  them.  Sin  and  dirt  are  synonymous. 
Yain  are  Lesson  and  Catechism  without  precision  and 
absolute  neatness.  All  the  instruments  of  this  final 
quality  become  reverend.  A  child  that  would  speak 
slightingly  of  broom,  brush,  or  towel,  is  on  the  road 
to  profanity !  All  moral  qualities  are  inflections  or 
subordinates  of  the  supreme  virtue  of  cleanly  order. 
Men  are  divided  into  two  classes,  the  neat  and  the 
filthy.  The  grades  of  respectability  and  the  order 
of  endowment  are  all  measured  by  the  relative 
capacity  for  neatness  !  Everything  comes  under  this 
Moral  Law.  The  horse  must  be  neat,  the  cow  must 
be  neat,  the  dog  must- be  neat,  the  pigs  must  be  neat ! 


THE   VIRTUE  AND  FANATICISM   OF  NEATNESS.       171 

From  cellar  to  attic  there  is  the  most  fierce  and  vigi 
lant  hunt  for  the  germ  of  dirt.  There  must  not  only 
be  no  spot,  or  soil,  or  litter,  but  not  even  the  sus 
picion  of  any !  What  avail  all  virtues,  all  graces  of 
speech,  all  helpful  kindness,  if,  when  the  matron 
lays  her  head  on  the  pillow,  there  is  a  probable 
shaving  on  the  nursery  floor,  an  undusted  chair,  or 
a  bit  of  lint  right  out  on  the  parlor  carpet  ? 

Common,  ignorant  folks  have  but  a  slight  idea  of 
neatness  as  a  science.  It  is  with  many  people  of  a 
neglected  education  a  mere  superficial  quality.  Have 
they  ever  classified  the  different  kinds  of  dirt  ?  traced 
them  to  their  sources  ?  and  studied  their  habits  ?  Do 
they  even  know  that  there  is  a  Natural  History  of 
Dirt  ?  There  is  mould,  rust,  mildew,  dust,  smoke- 
grime  ;  dirt  of  wood,  of  woollen,  of  cotton,  of  fruit 
and  vegetable,  of  paper,  of  leaves,  of  insects,  of  birds 
and  beasts,  of  men  and  children,  solid,  liquid,  gaseous, 
aerial,  terraqueous,  visible  and  invisible.  There  is 
the  dirt  of  the  crack,  of  the  crack  vertical  and  the 
crack  horizontal,  of  the  moulding  and  cornice,  of  the 
wall  and  ceiling,  of  the  curtain  and  carpet,  of  cup 
board  and  closet,  of  table  and  bed,  of  seasons.  Each 
in  kind,  winter  dirt,  spring,  summer,  and  autumn 
dirts,  and  each  to  be  searched,  seized,  condemned, 
and  annihilated. 

The  housewife  becomes  a  knight-errant.  Ghosts 
and  giants  are  nothing  to  her.  Castles  and  en 
counters  of  freebooters  she  turns  over  to  nursery 
credulity.  She  has  her  broom  and  brush  in  hand, 
her  armature  of  cloth  and  wash,  for  that  deceitful, 
stealthy,  ubiquitous  foe  of  all  domestic  peace,  uni 
versal  dirt.  All  nature  is  her  enemy.  All  winds 


172  EYES   AND   EARS. 

are  adverse  which  bring  dust.  All  phenomena  are 
regarded  as  good  or  bad,  from  their  dirt-producing 
tendencies.  The  economy  of  life  is  arranged  with 
supreme  reference  to  virtues  of  order  and  neatness. 
Comfort  is  nothing,  ease  is  nothing,  happiness  is 
nothing,  good  dispositions  are  nothing.  Neatness  is 
the  one  grace.  That  determines  when  you  must  get 
up,  what  you  must  wear,  where  you  may  sit  down, 
what  you  may  touch,  what  rooms  are  usable,  what 
days  of  the  week  are  home  days,  or  endurable  days. 
Life  has  not  one  moment's  respite  from  unwinking 
vigilance  !  Not  one  moment  is  there  that  the  great 
Arch-enemy  of  connubial  felicity  does  not  threaten  a 
speck  or  a  spot  upon  something.  You  live  under  a 
perpetual  and  sounding,  "  Take  care."  It  is  "  Take 
care,  don't  touch  that  silver,  you  will  tarnish  it." 
"  Take  care  of  that  sofa,  it  is  newly  covered." 
"  Take  care !  don't  sit  on  that  clean  chintz ;  you 
ought  to  know  better  than  to  sit  down  on  such  a 
chair !  "  "  Take  care  !  let  that  hat  alone,  you  will 
soil  it."  "  Take  care  !  pray  don't  go  near  that  side 
board,  you  '11  scratch  it."  "  Take  care  !  a  stick !  a 
knife  too ! !  Whittling  in  the  parlor  ! ! !  Go  out  — 
out  with  you  ;  go  out  of  the  yard,  go  into  the  road  ; 
go  behind  the  barn,  where  the  wind  won't  blow  your 
shavings  back."  "  Take  care  !  don't  eat  apples  in 
the  sitting-room,  —  you  always  drop  some  seeds." 
"  Take  care,  child,  come  away  from  that  door.  You 
are  not  going  into  that  room ;  it  is  just  put  in 
order !  "  And  thus,  family  discipline,  domestic  life, 
and  the  whole  end  of  living  seems  to  be,  to  avoid 
dirt,  and  secure  neatness.  Is  there  anything  so  tor 
menting  as  ecstatic  neatness  ?  0,  for  a  morsel  of  dirt, 


NIAGARA  FALLS,  BUT  NOT   DESCRIBED.  173 

as  a  luxury  !  How  good  dust  looks  !  A  ploughed  field 
with  endless  dirt,  —  all  hail !  The  great  sentence 
itself,  which  consigns  man  finally  to  dust  again,  be 
comes  a  consolation  ! 


NIAGARA  FALLS,  BUT  NOT  DESCRIBED. 

FY  attempt  to  convey  to  those  who  have  not 
seen  them  "  a  realizing  idea "  of  Niagara 
Falls,  must  be  a  miserable  failure,  even 
when  the  description  is  calm,  detailed,  and 
scientific  ;  and  much  more  when  it  is  exclamatory  and 
poetic.  But,  after  one  has  himself  been  at  the  Falls, 
and  subject  to  their  influence,  all  reasonably  well-writ 
ten  descriptions  become  interesting.  One  cannot  but 
wish  to  know  how  other  minds  have  been  affected,  and 
what  were  the  secret  reasons  of  different  experiences. 
With  some  most  literal  persons  the  whole  concern  may 
be  expressed  in  arithmetical  figures  ;  —  the  American 
falls  are  so  high  and  so  wide ;  the  Canada  falls  are  so 
much  wider  and  so  much  lower ;  the  water  is  so  deep, 
and  so  many  tons  are  estimated  to  pass  over  in  an 
hour;  the  rapids  descend  at  such  an  angle,  and  so 
many  feet.  There  is  to  them  neither  more  nor  less 
than  just  what  is  before  them,  —  a  vast,  roaring 
plunge  of  water.  To  another,  we  may  suppose  there 
is  added  a  fine  perception  of  form,  color,  and  motion. 
He  will  have  an  artist's  eye  for  each  feature,  —  as  if 
he  were  turning  in  his  mind  unconsciously  the  anat 
omy  of  the  thing,  and  revolving  how  it  could  be  ren 
dered  on  canvas. 


174  EYES  AND  EAES. 

But  to  others,  while  this  may  not  be  wanting,  there 
is  a  very  different  class  of  mental  sensations.  After 
the  first  bewildering  excitement  begins  to  assume  a 
more  settled  form,  and  the  confused  and  multiplex 
conceptions  grow  up  each  upon  its  own  stem,  one  is 
conscious,  at  least  I  was  conscious,  that  I  did  not  so 
much  see  simply  the  Falls,  as,  seeing  them,  feel  thou 
sands  of  associations  which  they  touched  and  vivified. 
And  it  seems  that,  besides  their  wondrous  quality  of 
beauty  and  force  and  grandeur,  they  have  a  yet  more 
wonderful  power  of  suggestion.  Thus,  while  I  was 
steadily  gazing  at  these  perpendicular  waves,  and 
thought  that  I  was  really  seeing  them,  the  mind  had 
glanced  back,  and  was  experiencing  a  strange  sense 
of  the  length  of  years,  and  unending,  unintermitted 
work.  For  ages  before  an  eye  saw  them,  long  before 
even  an  Indian  wandered  toward  their  mysterious 
thunder,  —  while  Columbus  was  steering  westward, 
while  battles  were  destroying  Rome,  while  Eomans 
were  sacking  Jerusalem,  while  Israel  wandered  in 
captive  lands,  while  David  was  penning  in  his  psalm, 
"  The  voice  of  the  Lord  is  upon  the  waters :  the  God 
of  glory  thundereth :  the  Lord  is  upon  many  waters. 
The  voice  of  the  Lord  is  powerful ;  the  voice  of  the 
Lord  is  full  of  majesty.  The  Lord  sitteth  upon  the 
flood,  the  Lord  sitteth  King  forever,"  —  these  mighty 
Falls  were  making  their  solemn  chorus.  And  not  for 
one  moment  has  there  been  check  or  pause.  It  seems 
to  one,  at  first,  as  if  they  wrought  for  him :  as  if,  when 
he  departed,  they  must  fade  out  somewhat  as  they  do 
in  his  remembrance!  And  it  comes  with  great  power 
home  to  us,  that  they  have  thundered  for  ages,  neither 
caring  whether  men  heard  or  were  deaf  or  absent,  in 


NIAGARA  FALLS,  BUT  NOT  DESCRIBED.      175 

winter  and  summer,  amid  storms  or  sunshines,  dark  or 
light,  under  the  stars  and  under  the  sun.  Our  own 
emotions  seem  to  be  a  part  of  the  scene.  That  there 
should  have  been  such  long  space  in  which  no  one 
shuddered  or  laughed,  no  one  was  solemn  or  glad,  no 
one  looked  or  lingered  or  yearned,  while  yet  all  this 
upheaved  glory  was  active  still,  makes  one  feel  what 
the  unworthy  disciple  said,  "  Why  was  this  waste  ?  " 
It  is  like  a  drama  enacted  in  a  solitary  theatre  ;  a  ser 
mon  discoursed  unto  emptiness.  Then  one  wonders 
what  the  sensations  must  have  been  of  the  millions 
of  diverse  minds  that  have  thronged  these  banks,  in 
all  degrees  of  capacity  and  sensibility,  in  all  moods 
of  sobriety  and  sorrow,  in  all  experiences  of  gayety 
and  joy,  —  young  and  old,  wise  men  and  fools,  gig 
gling  girls  for  once  hushed  and  overawed,  before  this 
stern  and  uncoquetting  beauty  that  would  as  remorse 
lessly  swallow  down  babe  and  beauty  as  it  would  bear 
or  log.  Could  the  simple  and  natural  experiences  of 
all  the  souls  which  have  been  wrought  upon  before 
this  Majesty  of  Waters  be  vividly  recorded,  it  would 
be  yet  more  wonderful  than  Niagara  itself. 

One  is  not  long  in  discovering  that  he  is  seeking 
to  express  that  which  he  sees  by  comparisons  with 
familiar  objects.  I  cannot  till  this  moment,  when 
looking  upon  the  bubbling-out  of  jets  of  white  from 
the  face  of  the  descending  water,  forbear  to  think 
that  it  is  a  process  of  blossoming.  This  takes  place 
peculiarly  upon  the  Canada  side.  The  water  at  the 
centre  angle  comes  to  the  plunge  with  unbroken  sur 
face, —  a  massive  movement,  a  solemn  dignity,  as  if 
conscious  of  the  secret  power  which  slept  within. 
It  bends  without  a  wrinkle ;  it  plunges ;  but,  at  less 


176  EYES  AND  EARS. 

than  a  third  of  its  descent,  some  projecting  crag  from 
beneath  catches  it,  or  the  air  hisses  up  through  it, 
and  white  ebullitions  evolve,  growing  more  and  more 
frequent,  until,  before  the  mass  is  hid  in  the  mists 
which  gather  about  its  feet,  it  is  sheeted  all  over  with 
flowers.  This  is  not  a  suggestion  merely  of  color, 
but  of  motion.  The  evolution  of  these  diamond  bou 
quets  is  suggestive  of  the  rapid  opening  of  leaves,  of 
the  quick,  final  opening  of  flower-buds.  Neither  can 
one,  by  any  process  of  reasoning,  get  rid  of  a  sense 
of  life  in  this  cataract.  It  is  felt  in  the  Rapids  above, 
in  the  long-descending  Fall,  in  the  infuriate  and  ago 
nized  uproar  beneath  the  Horse-Shoe,  and,  perhaps 
even  more  than  anywhere,  in  the  race  beneath  and 
beyond  the  suspension-bridge,  two  miles  below.  You 
do  not  at  all  admit  that  you  are  so  wrought  upon  in 
your  inmost  soul  by  a  mere  mass  of  inert  water 
drawn  down  the  cliff  by  gravitation.  It  must  be  a 
living  voice  that  speaks  to  you.  You  attribute  voli 
tion  to  it.  No  one  thinks  or  speaks  of  it  as  a  passive 
thing,  irresistibly  acted  on ;  but  as  a  fierce  will,  as 
an  irresistible  power,  full  of  all  caprices,  of  inordi 
nate  passions,  surpassing  in  rage  and  fury  and  ter 
rible  strife  all  that  we  have  conceived  of  in  human 
conflicts,  or  the  race  of  contending  beasts,  or  the 
coil  and  twist  of  mightiest  serpents.  This  sense  of 
life  grows  more  earnest  and  real  the  nearer  you 
come  to  the  water.  At  a  little  distance  the  sense  of 
beauty  takes  precedence  of  all  others  ;  but  stand  at 
the  foot  of  either  sheet,  or  close  upon  the  edge  of 
Table  Rock,  or,  more  remarkably  yet,  descend  beneath 
Table  Rock,  and,  turning  to  the  left  a  hundred  yards, 
go  down  and  out  to  the  very  edge  of  the  stream, 


NIAGARA   FALLS,   BUT   NOT   DESCRIBED.  177 

that,  having  made  its  leap,  is  hissing'  past  in  wild 
affright  and  immeasurable  speed,  and  you  will  have 
a  brave  heart  indeed  or  a  very  stupid  one,  if  you  do 
not  feel  as.  if  you  were  looking  in  upon  a  chasm  of 
perdition,  and  were  in  momentary  danger  of  being 
clutched  by  weird  spirits  and  hurried  headlong  to 
destruction.  No  one  can  look  out  over  this  particular 
scene,  from  the  edge  of  it,  without  an  impression  of 
subterranean  and  infernal  doings.  At  one  moment, 
the  innumerable  jets,  that  never  for  two  seconds  wear 
the  same  form,  —  that  are  not  water  nor  foam,  but 
both,  —  that  open  and  stretch  out  long  hands,  leaping 
up  as  if  clutching  at  some  invisible  prey,  and  then 
rush  together,  and  whirl  round  and  round  in  a  maze 
of  fury,  —  suggest  to  you  a  liquid  prairie  full  of  raging 
and  bedevilled  water-wolves.  If  the  eye  changes  a 
little,  looks  farther  up  towards  the  opening  and  shut 
ting  mist,  it  fancies  that  there  are  monsters  beneath 
in  horrible  sport.  The  water  swells  up  as  if  they 
were  about  to  emerge,  or  bubbles  and  boils  after  them 
as  they  sink  down  again.  You  look  for  the  serrated 
and  knotted  black  back,  you  almost  can  see  the  huge 
sprawling  legs  and  tentaculae  of  the  fabulous  Nor 
wegian  Krakens,  acre-large,  sporting  with  all  their 
young  litter.  There  is  one  point  where,  above  all 
others,  you  have  a  sense  of  power  in  a  threefold 
form ;  going  beneath  Table  Rock,  as  far  as  you  can, 
without  going  behind  the  sheet,  you  see  the  force  with 
which  the  water  descends.  It  is  not  a  steady  pouring, 
but  in  successive  bolts ;  it  has  the  appearance  of 
clenched  fists,  pelting  downward  toward  the  rocks. 
Behind  this  is  the  gloomy  and  mysterious  mouth  of 
the  cave,  swept  across  by  violently  blown  mists.  The 

8*  L 


178  EYES  AND  EARS. 

wild  eddying  of  these  vapors  was  to  me  very  impres 
sive.  I  looked  to  see  some  storm-god  issue  forth,  and 
these  were  his  whirling  couriers  speeding  out  before 
him.  Just  below,  an  eddy  swept  round  .a  point  of 
rock,  forming  a  whirlpool,  some  fifty  or  sixty  feet  in 
diameter.  Into  this  had  been  sucked  several  trunks 
of  trees,  logs,  planks,  besides  lesser  trash.  It  was 
affecting  to  look  at  their  attempts  to  escape.  For 
surely  they  were  alive,  and  conscious  of  their  danger, 
and  wildly  heading  out  toward  the  raging  waters, 
which  mounted  them,  beat  them  down,  whirled  them 
back,  and  sent  them  round  again  in  the  endless  circle. 
And  so  I  watched  them  for  a  half-hour,  and  longed  to 
do  something  to  help  them,  —  for  it  was  plain  that 
they  could  not  help  themselves.  Doubtless  they  are 
whirling  there  yet,  as  I  write ;  and  yet,  as  you  read. 
Nor  could  one  of  my  profession  refrain  from  thinking 
that  thus  stray  men,  swept  by  their  passions,  are 
caught  and  whirled  nightly  round  and  round,  by  cur 
rents  that  are  easily  entered,  but  that  defy  all  escape, 
until  their  work  is  done,  and  they  cast  the  mangled 
victim  in  fragments  all  along  the  shore ! 

One  that  had  not  seen  could  hardly  be  persuaded 
that  over  all  these  views  there  is  spread  the  most 
dazzling  and  exquisite  beauty.  The  very  stream  that 
rushes  like  a  raging  demon  at  you,  and  splits  upon 
the  rock  on  which  you  sit,  is  beaded  all  over  with 
sparkling  bubbles,  that,  every  one,  might  teach  a  dia 
mond  how  to  shine.  Those  globes  that  belly  up  from 
the  deep  are  sheaves  of  pearls ;  those  wildest  circles 
that  shoot  out  like  suddenly  uncoiled  serpents,  give 
you  every  curve  of  beauty,  and  are  white  with  efflo 
rescent  gems.  The  mind  changes  with  perpetual  and 


NIAGARA   FALLS,   BUT   NOT   DESCRIBED.  179 

involuntary  transitions  from  terror  to  admiration ; 
from  terrible  power  to  exquisite  loveliness.  It  is  a 
scene  of  raging  power  covered  all  over  with  a  robe  of 
perfect  beauty.  The  mists  assume  every  form  ;  rising 
as  a  stately  pillar,  or  swept  by  the  winds  and  diffused 
like  clouds.  Meantime  the  whole  air  is  solemn  with 
the  undertone  of  the  falls.  The  most  obvious  sound 
is  a  sharp  and  crashy  roar.  But  down  below,  there  is 
a  suppressed  thunder,  as  of  an  organ  playing  beneath 
the  uplifted  song  of  a  thousand  voices. 

The  sense  of  irresistible  power  is  common  to  every 
part  of  this  scene,  when  approached  closely.  The 
tumult  and  headlong  rush  of  the  Rapids,  whirling, 
tumbling  over  each  other,  one  wave  devouring  an 
other,  —  the  stately  plunge  of  the  solemn  green  water, 
the  boiling  and  madness  of  the  tormented  chasm 
below,  with  very  different  effects  in  other  respects, 
have  all  alike  a  sense  of-  irresistible  power  that 
makes  your  own  strength  insignificant.  You  are  the 
most  helpless  of  all  creatures.  A  gnat,  a  spider,  a 
leaf,  have  as  much  power  to  resist  as  you.  A 
struggle  would  be  a  folly.  Even  an  outcry  would 
be  as  if  you  were  dumb.  Such  utter  nothingness, 
before  a  presence  upon  which  the  hand  of  man  can 
never  be  lifted,  is  a  kind  of  annihilation.  Courage, 
resistance,  strength,  contention,  are  words  without 
any  meaning  to  a  man  who  steps  three  feet  farther 
out  beyond  where  I  stand. 

But  different  portions  of  this  system  of  falls,  —  for 
it  is  not  one  fall,  but  an  elaborate  cataract  system,  — 
have  very  different  expressions  of  feeling.  Seen  from 
a  distance,  as.  from  Terrapin  Bridge  and  the  tower  on 
Goat  Island,  the  Rapids  are  not  victim  waves,  hurried 


180  EYES  AND  EAES. 

to  execution,  but  they  come  down  toward  you  with 
all  tokens  of  joy,  flinging  up  their  arms,  and  rushing 
with  an  ecstasy  of  exhilaration,  a  very  carnival  of 
waters.  Sometimes  one  .thinks,  when  looking  far  up 
to  the  upper  line  of  the  Rapids,  where  they  back 
against  the  sky,  of  a  troop  of  bannered  knights,  filling 
the  air  with  white  pennons  and  streamers,  and  charg 
ing  down  toward  you,  and  every  few  moments  some 
larger  swell,  like  a  suddenly  spurred  steed,  bolts  up 
right  and  above  all  its  fellows.  At  other  times,  when 
in  positions  that  bring  the  sun  aright,  it  seems  as  if, 
from  below,  water-sprites  were  ostentatious  of  their 
jewels,  and  flinging  them  by  millions  to  glitter  a 
moment  in  the  sun,  and  then  flash  back  to  the  wave 
again. 

All  hasty  visitors,  and  almost  all  who  think  them 
selves  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  Falls,  miss  the 
only  view  of  the  Rapids  which,  once  seen,  one  wishes 
to  carry  away  in  his  memory,  and  that  is  on  the 
Canada  side,  about  two  miles  from  the  Clifton  House, 
on  the  Chippewa  road,  at  a  place  called  Street's  Mill. 
As  compared  with  this,  all  other  views  of  the  Rapids 
are  fragmentary.  This  one,  at  that  particular  point, 
gives  them  in  such  perspective,  that  they  seem  to 
stretch  away  ten  miles,  although  not  in  fact  half  a 
mile  wide.  If  one,  on  returning,  looks  from  the  hill, 
back  upon  the  scene  which  he  has  just  been  viewing, 
he  can  scarcely  be  persuaded  that  the  few  strips  of 
foam  which  he  sees  could  have  seemed  so  immensely 
outstretched.  It  is  the  most  gloriously  deceptive  view 
around  the  Falls. 


NEAT   DKESSING  IS  NOT   CLEAN  HOUSEKEEPING.     181 


NEAT  DRESSING  IS  NOT   CLEAN  HOUSEKEEPING. 


AVING  often  met  Mrs.  Prim  in  society,  I 
thought  her  the  neatest  woman  in  the 
world ;  and  probably  should  have  always 
thought  so  if  I  had  not,  very  strangely,  had 
access  to  her  house.  For,  once,  when  I  had  praised 
the  good  woman,  a  mischievous  girl  whispered  just 
loud  enough  to  be  heard,  (exactly  as  if  she  was  trying 
to  keep  it  a  secret,  —  cunning  rogue  !)  "  He  ought  to 
see  her  at  home,  if  he  wants  to  know  what  neatness 
is."  This  ran  in  my  head,  and  stirred  up  a  host  of 
busy  fancies  and  wondering  thoughts.  "  Well,  I  do 
wish  I  could  slip  in  some  time,  unexpectedly,  and  see 
if  this  fair  show  is  a  pretty  piece  of  domestic  impos 
ture  ! " 

Who  knows  what  is  before  him  ?  My  wishes  were 
gratified.  For,  that  very  night,  I  dreamed  ;  and  Mrs. 
Prim  was  the  heroine  of  my  dream.  By  that  amazing 
power  given  unto  dreams,  I  found  myself  the  husband 
of  Mrs.  Prim,  —  the  very  Mr.  Prim  himself.  Methought 
my  lady  had  gone  out  to  spend  an  evening ;  and  after 
sleepily  reading  a  paper  for  a  while,  I  retired  to  rest. 
Entering  the  room,  there  lay  a  stocking  sprawled  out 
at  full  length  on  the  floor,  its  mate  coiled  up  into  a 
dump  by  its  side,  just  as  it  was  turned  off  the  foot. 
In  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  a  stack  of  under 
clothes,  just  as  they  had  been  stepped  out  of.  Several 
pairs  of  shoes  and  several  widowed  ones,  who  long  had 
mourned  the  loss  of  a  companion,  and  had,  for  grief 
doubtless,  much  run  down  at  the  heel,  were  sprinkled 


182  EYES   AND  EARS. 

around  the  room  promiscuously.  The  washbasin,  its 
contents  creamed  over  with  soap,  stood  in  a  chair ;  the 
towel  lying  half  in  it,  the  soap  on  the  floor  with  a  coat 
of  dust  be-feathering  it.  The  washstand  was  covered 
with  ends  of  candles,  open  and  evacuated  snuffers, 
scraps  of  fancy  soap,  a  caseknife,  a  roll  of  brimstone, 
two  tooth-brushes  colored  with  powder,  the  one  red, 
the  other  black  ;  a  shoebrush,  a  snarl  of  black  braid  for 
shoestrings,  half  a  dozen  empty  perfume-bottles,  and 
a  Bible.  The  bureau  was  as  much  beyond  the  wash- 
stand  in  condition  as  in  original  size.  Every  drawer 
but  one  was  open  in  different  degrees,  like  Peel's  slid- 
ing-scale  of  tariff.  If  Homer  asked  help  of  the  gods 
when  beginning  his  epic,  how  much  more  should  I  ? 
He  had  only  a  city  to  describe,  with  a  few  armies,  and 
the  geography  of  earth  and  heaven  ;  but  I  have  a  lady's 
bureau  and  all  its  drawers !  The  cloth,  designed  to 
cover  and  protect  it  from  all  scratches,  had  certainly 
been  used  for  a  towel  at  each  corner,  for  there  were  the 
finger-prints.  A  pair  of  curls,  several  unmanufactured 
wads  of  vagrant  hair,  an  upset  box  of  tooth-powder, 
two  dispersed  squadrons  of  pins,  —  the  one  sort  mere 
light  infantry,  the  other  full-grown  dragoon  pins, — 
hair-brushes,  one,  two,  three ;  two  long  combs,  one 
fine  comb,  so  old  as  to  have  lost  many  of  its  teeth,  and 
to  have  turned  quite  gray ;  pomatum,  oils,  uncorked 
cologne,  mille-fleur,  lavender,  patchouli,  verveine,  and 
a  host  besides  ;  wristlets,  hair-bands,  ruffles,  laces,  lock 
ets,  rings,  thimbles,  elongated  hair-pins,  side-combs, 
back-combs,  refuse  curl-papers,  a  pair  of  curling-tongs 
laid  down  too  hot,  and  making  the  cloth  to  blush  brown 
under  them  ;  a  bundle  of  tracts,  several  notes  and  bil 
lets-doux,  seals,  wax,  unrolled  and  unrolling  spools  of 


NEAT  DRESSING  IS  NOT   CLEAN  HOUSEKEEPING.     183 

thread,  several  skeins  of  silk  snarled  and  unsnarlable, 
a  crushed  cap  or.  two,  sundry  ribbons,  an  odd  volume 
of  Hannah  More's  works,  the  constitution  of  a  ma 
ternal  society,  gloves  a  score,  black,  white,  yellow, 
blue,  and  brown,  —  and  all  this  just  on  the  top,  for 
the  drawers  are  yet  to  come !  A  tempest  had  evi 
dently  been  dealing  with  these  lower  depths,  for  they 
were  stirred  up  from  the  bottom.  When,  in  dressing 
in  hot  haste,  a  collar  had  been  sought,  the  sweet  Mrs. 
Prim,  beginning  at  one  side,  forced  down  to  the  other 
end  each  article  which  was  not  the  one  sought  for ; 
and  then,  returning,  pawed  them  all  down  to  the  other 
side.  Going  to  the  next  drawer,  the  ceremony  was 
repeated.  Some  of  the  drawers  were  emptied  into 
others ;  and  then  the  contents  put  back  by  the  hand 
ful  and  kneaded  down  to  their  proper  compactness. 
Once,  the  candle  —  which  was  in  a  "  melting  mood  " 
—  was  overturned  into  a  heap  of  fine  linens,  but  the 
mischief  was  effaced  by  shoving  the  ill-fated  things, 
in  disgrace,  far  back  into  the  drawer  and  deep  under 
many  companions.  Many  things  were  torn  open  to 
see  if  something  else  was  not  in  them.  Stockings 
were  unrolled  and  left ;  or  a  cotton  and  silk  one 
rolled  up  together,  a  black  one  and  a  white.  Thus 
much  for  the  bureau ;  but  it  is  only  a  hint,  and  not  a 
full  description.  My  coats  and  overcoat,  overhauled 
daily  to  see  if  a  stray  dress  or  underdress  had  not  hid 
itself  among  them,  were  thus  well-trained  to  ground 
and  lofty  tumbling  ;  and  were  becoming  quite  fledged 
with  lint  and  feathers. 

Out  of  such'  a  chaos  Mrs.  Prim  would  come  forth 
the  sweetest-looking  creature  and  the  best-dressed 
woman  in  town,  when  she  was  going  into  company  I 


184  EYES   AND   EARS. 

How  came  she  forth  when  only  entering  her  own  fam- 
.  ily  ?  With  hair  spreading  in  different  directions,  with 
a  bestained  and  dirty  dress,  half  hooked  and  half 
pinned  with  pins  black  and  white,  and  with  one  of  the 
backs  of  her  dress  an  inch  higher  than  the  other ;  the 
skirt  ripped  out  of  the  gatherings  in  spots ;  an  apron 
tied  on  askew,  ill-mated  shoes,  and  no  neck-handker 
chief  at  all,  —  for,  if  the  air  is  chilly  when  stepping  out 
of  doors,  the  apron  is  drawn  around  the  neck.  0, 
what  a  waking  was  mine,  when  morning  broke  up  the 
dream,  and  divorced  me  from  Mrs.  Prim!  Really,  I 
do  not  suppose  such  a  person  ever  lived  or  was  thought 
of,  except  in  a  dream.  If  it  ever  were  true,  out  of 
dreams,  I  do  not  think  that  husbands  would  respect 
their  wives ;  honeymoons  would  wane,  men  would  not 
love  their  homes,  things  would  go  at  sixes  and  sevens, 
young  married  couples  would  grow  indifferent  to  each 
other,  wives  would  complain  that  husbands  did  not  care 
for  them,  husbands  would  mutter  something  about 
being  "  taken  in,"  both  would  learn  to  say,  "  I  re 
member  the  time,  Mr.  Prim,  when  you  would  not  have 
treated  me  so."  "  And  I,  Mrs.  Prim,  remember  the 
time  when  you  did  not  look  so."  "  Well,  my  dear, 
whose  fault  is  it,  when  I  have  nobody  here  at  home 
half  the  time  to  care  how  I  look  ?  "  "  Well,  love,  who 
wants  to  wade  knee  deep  in  dirt,  and  call  that  home  ?  " 
"  Well,  sir,  you  are  a  proper  man  to  talk  about  dirt, 
you  are  so  neat  yourself ;  pray,  sir,  do  give  me  a  lec 
ture  ;  do  show  me  how  to  keep  things  neat ;  could  n't 
you  write  a  little  book  about  it  ?  it  would  be  very 
nice,  Mr.  Prim  !  —  neat  Mr.  Prim ! !  —  charming  Mr. 
Prim!!!" 

But   as   such   things    never    happen,   there   is    no 
use  in  writing  any  more   about  them. 


OUR  FIRST   FISHING.  185 


OUR    FIRST    FISHING. 

HERE  is  in  the  first  experiences  of  life,  the 
first  hearty  experiences  of  childhood,  such 
a  clear,  full,  and  uncontrolled  flow  of  pleas 
ure,  that  we  look  back  to  them  afterwards 
and  wish,  in  later  and  riper  life,  that  it  were  possible 
to  have  such  simple  and  utter  abandonment  to  our 
feelings.  We  go  back  to  the  scenes  of  childhood,  and 
stand  on  the  places  that  witnessed  our  early  sports 
and  joys,  with  an  incredulous  wonder.  It  seems  more 
like  a  dream  than  a  reality,  that  we  were  once  boys, 
capable  of  doing  and  being  all  that  we  remember. 

We  suppose  scarcely  a  single  person  knows  the 
locality  called  "  The  Old  Saw-Mill."  It  is  on  the 
river  Bantam.  Of  course  every  one  will  know 
where  that  is. 

Well,  that  was  a  day  above  all  days  when  we  were 
permitted  to  go  a-fishing  all  by  ourselves  !  Off  we 
darted  for  the  spade,  and  a  ten-year-old  boy  might 
have  been  seen  at  work  on  the  north  side  of  the  wood- 
house,  where  the  kitchen  sink-spout  made  the  soil  very 
rich,  digging  worms  with  the  most  glowing  industry. 
Then,  with  a  straight  line  right  across  lots,  we  aimed 
at  the  Old  Saw-Mill.  And  not  one  step  did  we  walk, 
and  every  step  did  we  run,  till  the  stony  bank  was 
reached.  There  lay  the  pools  of  water  nearly  two  feet 
deep.  And  there,  hidden  under  projecting  stones, 
lurked  the  longed-for  fish.  An  alder-pole  was  good 
enough  in  those  days,  a  piece  of  twine  was  the  line. 
Our  hook  was  soon  baited  with  a  worm  that  wriggled 


186  EYES  AND  EAES. 

in  a  manner  most  deliciously  tempting  to  any  well- 
bred  fish.  With  the  most  awful  suspense  we  dropped 
the  tempting  morsel  into  the  pool.  Scarcely  had  it 
sunk  to  the  flashing  pebbles  at  the  bottom,  when  a 
fish,  that  had  evidently  been  made  on  purpose  to  de 
light  a  boy's  heart,  darted  out,  and  seized  the  hook 
with  such  a  pull  as  sent  the  blood  through  every  vein 
in  my  body.  The  energy  with  which  that  fish  came 
forth  was  such  as  to  settle  all  question  of  cruelty.  •  For 
such  a  violent  jerk  did  we  give,  that  the  little  fellow 
described  a  circle  over  our  head,  and  was  thwacked 
against  the  rocks  with  such  force  as  to  be  dashed  to 
atoms  !  But  we  had  caught  a  fish  !  The  thing  was 
settled  !  A  fish  could  be  caught,  and  ive  could  catch 
it.  But  a  second  and  third  endeavor  resulted  in  the 
same  way.  The  fish  were  shiners.  They  were  as 
large  as  a  man's  finger,  almost.  And,  when  we 
went  home  at  length,  at  least  half  that  we  caught 
had  been  dashed  to  pieces.  How  many  times  since 
then  have  we  seen  the  same  thing  done  in, life-expe 
riences.  Men  are  so  eager  that  they  destroy  their 
own  ends !  A  parent  is  so  roused  up  by  a  child's 
fault  that  he  puts  at  him  with  such  impetuosity  that 
the  boy  is  driven  away  from  him,  and  refuses  to  be 
influenced. 

A  friend,  by  gentle  treatment,  might  have  been  led 
out  of  an  error,  but  intemperate  eagerness  only  sacri 
fices  him  and  his  interests.  If  a  man  will  have  golden 
fish,  let  him  go  to  the  side  of  the  stream  of  life  calmly, 
put  in  his  hook  discreetly,  and  lift  out  his  prey  with 
an  easy  and  even  pull.  But  if  he  threshes  back  with 
full  swing,  ten  to  one  he  will  dash  his  luck  to  pieces  ! 

You   cannot   succeed   in  life  by  spasmodic  jerks. 


READING.  187 

You  cannot  win >  confidence,  nor  earn  friendship,  nor 
gain  influence,  nor  attain  skill,  nor  reach  position 
by  violent  snatches.  One  sort  of  men  lose  by  too 
much  caution,  another  kind  by  too  much  eagerness. 
One  waits  too  long,  another  does  not  wait  long 
enough. 

First  get  your  fish  to  bite.     Then  see  that  you  so 
land  them  that  they  shall  be  worth  something. 


READING. 


HERE  are  few  who  stop  to  consider  the  mira 
cle  of  reading.  That  a  few  black  marks  upon 
paper  should  have  such  an  informing  and 
transporting  power  is  scarcely  less  than  mi 
raculous.  Four  letters  are  put  together,  H,  0,  M,  E. 
The  moment  the  eye  looks  upon  them  the  soul  rises 
up,  a  picture  comes  forth ;  a  house  with  its  yard,  its 
barn,  its  well,  its  fields  and  forests.  Even  its  most 
minute  features  come  to  us  with  exquisite  nicety. 
We  see  its  inmates,  an  old  man,  a  venerable  woman, 
children,  domestic  scenes.  Years  that  have  long 
slept  rise  up  and  step  forth  again  in  newness  of  life. 
And  all  things  are  so  refashioned  that  we  no  longer 
think  where  we  are,  or  what  we  are,  but  seem  to  our 
selves  carried  back  scores  of  years,  and  walking  up 
and  down  again  the  ways  of  childhood.  And  all  this 
simply  because  there  are  four  linear  spots  of  ink  on 
a  sheet  of  white  paper ! 

But  if  one  considers  more  minutely  what  is  taking 


188  EYES  AND  EARS. 

place  in  reading  all  the  time,  the  marvel. will  still 
grow.  The  eye  has  learned  to  see  without  pausing 
to  examine.  The  ready  reader  never  thinks  of  let 
ters.  It  is  only  the  word  that  he  sees.  And  even 
the  word  seems  to  lose  individuality,  and  is  but  a 
member  of  something  else,  —  a  sentence.  But  even 
the  sentence  seems  not  to  be  seen,  but  to  be  seen 
through.  We  see  the  thought  rather  than  the  sym 
bol  by  which  it  is  set  forth.  And  the  act  of  reading, 
although  it  is  a  physical  act,  is  yet  so  much  more 
mental,  that  we  lose  all  consciousness  of  the  mechani 
cal  part  of  it,  and  follow  a  train  of  pure  thought,  or 
the  flow  of  sentiment,  or  a  description,  as  if  the  thing 
itself  were  transpiring !  It  is  most  curious  to  watch 
a  person  in  reading  an  exciting  narrative,  or  some 
stirring  appeal,  and  to  see  how  these  dead  letters 
lord  it  over  every  inward  faculty.  At  this  black  spot 
of  printer's  ink  we  weep,  at  another  we  laugh,  at  still 
another  we  are  angry.  This  line  touches  one  feel 
ing,  that  line  another,  and  line  after  line  they  reach 
in,  and,  like  the  fingers  of  u  musician,  touch  the 
chords  and  bring  forth  all  the  soul's  activity. 

But  the  same  passage,  read  by  different  men,  will 
affect  them  all  differently.  It  is  not  probable  that 
the  same  state  of  mind,  in  all  its  details,  has  ever 
been  twice  produced,  exactly  alike,  by  any  text  of 
Scripture  or  any  passage  in  Shakespeare.  Something 
is  always  varied. 

It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that,  although  when  we  are 
heartily  engaged  in  reading  we  cease  to  see  the  lines 
and  letters,  and  behold  only  their  meaning,  yet, 
when  we  are  absent-minded,  we  read  without  see 
ing  either  the  meaning  or  the  words  by  which  it  is 


READING.  189 

conveyed.  We  have,  when  much  preoccupied,  read 
whole  pages  aloud,  to  the  edification  of  others,  with 
out  being  conscious  either  that  we  saw  a  letter  or 
received  a  single  idea.  The  eye  saw,  and  the  mouth 
vocalized,  while  our  thoughts  were  busy  with  some 
memory,  or  in  arranging  some  plan,  or  in  some  other 
variant  activity. 

The  liabit  of  reading  proof  and  correcting  it  for 
press  leads  to  some  singular  developments.  A  man 
feels  mistakes  rather  than  sees  them.  In  glancing 
rapidly  over  the  sentences,  almost  before  the  will  can 
act,  and  while  the  thought  is  tending  to  hold  its  way 
right  along,  we  feel  a  sort  of  mechanical  grip,  a  put 
ting  on  the  brakes,  as  if  something  was  wrong,  and 
we  go  back  to  search  and  see  what  it  is.  And,  be 
hold,  there  is  a  word  with  ie  put  for  ei,  or  an  m  is 
wanting,  or  but  one  /  is  put  where  two  should  be ! 
That  we  did  not  see,  but  only  felt  the  mistake,  ap 
pears  from  the  fact  that  when  we  search  we  have  not 
the  least  idea  of  what  the  matter  is,  and  we  go  back 
looking  and  groping  to  see  what  it  was  that  stopped 
us  with  such  a  mind-jolt ! 

Every  one's  reflection  will  suggest  other  facts  in 
regard  to  the  marvellousness  of  the  simple  mechani 
cal  and  mental  act  of  reading.  But  what  to  read, 
and  how  to  read,  are  more  important  than  the  mar 
vels  of  the  simple  act  itself;  and  these  topics  must 
not  be  begun  at  the  heels  of  an  article.  And  so,  if 
our  readers  will  wait,  we  will  too. 


190  EYES  AND  EARS. 


SUMMER    READING. 

]UMMER  READING  is  a  distinctly  marked 
species  in  the  great  genus  Reading.  Every 
body  understands  the  term,  but  nobody 
can  tell  exactly  what  it  means.  There  is 
a  temperate  zone  in  the  mind,  between  luxurious 
indolence  and  exacting  work,  and  it  is  to  this  region, 
just  between  laziness  and  labor,  that  summer  reading 
belongs.  A  book,  that  —  lying  upon  your  back,  while 
the  wind  shakes  the  leaves  in  your  drowsy  ears,  and 
insects  fill  the  air  with  a  sweet  tenor,  and  bees  under 
your  window  hum  and  drone,  and  birds  return  thanks 
for  the  seed  and  worms  eaten  —  floats  you  up  out  of 
sleep,  which  yet  throws  its  spray  over  you,  as  the 
sea  does  on  men  who  lazily  float  in  a  summer  breezy 
day  on  raft  or  low-edged  boat,  —  a  book  that  now 
and  then  drops  you,  and  then  takes  you  up  again, 
that  spins  a  silver  thread  of  thought  from  your 
mind  fine  as  gossamer,  and  then  breaks  it  as  the 
wind  does  the  spider's  web,  —  this  is  a  summer  book. 
You  never  know  where  you  left  off,  and  do  not  care 
where  you  begin.  It  is  all  beginning,  and  all  middle, 
and  end  everywhere. 

Doubtless  study  has  its  dignities  and  claims ;  stiff- 
backed,  hard-seated  study,  —  that  makes  no  luxury  of 
books,  but  quarries  them,  and  digs  or  blasts  material 
for  solid  uses.  A  man  turns  his  mind  round  and 
round  like  an  auger  in  some  oaken  plank,  and  bores 
through  the  toughest  subjects. 

But  venerable  and  praiseworthy  as  may  be  this  long- 


SUMMER   READING.  191 

bearded  industry  and  midnight-lamp  wisdom,  it  must 
not  hold  a  lighter  thing  in  utter  contempt.  There  is 
a  reading  for  fugitive  moments  ;  there  is  a  luxury  of 
reading  when  you  are  coiled  up  under  a  beech  or  elm 
tree  around  whose  swollen  roots  a  clear  stream  frolics 
that  never  goes  to  sleep,  but  plays  in  a  perpetual 
childhood.  I  love  clover-hay  reading.  Spread  out 
on  an  ample  mow,  with  the  north  and  south  barn 
door  wide  open,  with  hens  scratching  down  on  the 
floor,  and  expressing  themselves  in  short  sentences 
to  each  other,  now  and  then  lifting  up  one  of  those 
roundelays  or  hen-songs  that  are  no  doubt  as  good 
to  them  as  a  psalm-tune  or  a  love-song  ;  with  swallows 
flying  in  and  out,  and  clouds  floating  over  the  sun, 
raising  or  lowering  the  light  on  our  book..  Can  any 
thing  be  sweeter  than  such  reading  of  poet,  or  story- 
weaving  magician,  or  magister?  Yes.  It  is  even 
sweeter  to  have  the  letters  grow  dim,  and  run  about 
the  page,  and  disappear,  while  the  hands  relax,  and 
the  book,  gently  swaying,  comes  down  on  your  breast, 
and  visions  from  within  open  their  clear  faces  on 
you,  and  the  hours  go  by  so  softly  that  you  will  not 
believe  that  the  sun  is  low  in  the  west,  and  that 
those  voices  are  of  folks  out  after  you  to  come  in 
to  supper ! 

But  there  is  a  world  of  less  indolent  pleasure  and 
of  summer  reading  for  cool  mornings,  for  evening 
hours,  and  for  the  Sabbath,  that  never  glows  and 
rejoices  with  such  fervor  as  in  the  country,  in  sum 
mer  days.  We  yield  up  the  old  ponderous  books  to 
the  shelf  again  ;  the  histories,  the  controversies,  the 
abstruse  philosophies,  the  head-filling  books  of  solid 
learning,  and  betake  ourselves  to  books  which  teach 


192  EYES  AND  EARS. 

us  of  plants,  of  insects,  of  birds,  of  fish,  of  all  things 
that  live  and  grow,  or  fly  or  creep.  The  summer 
seems  a  prolonged  invitation  to  read  God's  Book  of 
Nature. 


WORTH    OF    MONEY. 


E  hear  a  good  deal  about  the  worth  of  prop 
erty.     A  house  is  worth  ten  thousand  dol 
lars  ;  that  lot  is  worth  fifty  thousand  dol 
lars  ;  a  farm   is   worth   eight  thousand?-*^ 
three  hundred,  a  carriage  five  hundred,-  and  so 


on  endlessly.  This  is  all  very  well  in  its  way.  But 
ought  not  the  question,  sometimes,  to  be  put  the  other 
way,  How  much  is  a  man's  mpjig£  worth  ?  There  is  a 
wider  range  in  the  value  of  money  than  most  persons 
think.  And,  upon  a  little  inquiry,  I  suspect  that  it 
will  be  found  that  all  men  who  possess  money,  or  who 
long  to  possess  it,  have  a  way  of  measuring  it,  not  by 
dollars,  but  by  its  value  in  some  sort  of  pleasure  or 
article. 

One  man  earns  a  thousand  dollars,  and  says  to  him 
self,  There,  that  puts  me  one  step  out  of  debt.  Money 
to  him  is  a  means  of  personal  liberty.  A  man  in  debt 
is  not  a  freeman.  "  The  borrower  is  servant  to  the 
lender." 

Another  man  sees  in  a  thousand  dollars  a  snug  little 
homestead,  a  home  for  his  children,  a  shelter  to  his 
old  age,  a  place  to  live  in,  and  a  good  place  to  die  iny 
But  his  neighbor  only  sees  one  more  link  in  the  gold 
en  chain  of  wealth.'  It  was  thirty-nine  thousand  last 


WORTH    OF   MONEY.  198 

month,  he  is  worth  forty  this.  And  his  joy  is  in  the 
growing  numerals.  He^imagwies  how  it  will  sound, 
full,  round,  and  hearty,  when  men  say,  "  He  is  worth 
arhundred  thtmsand  dollars."  Nay,  when  it  comes  to 
that,  he  thinks  five  a  better  sound  than  one,  and  five 
hundred  thousand  dollars  is  a  sound  most  musical  to 
his  ear,  —  though  he  loves  even  better  yet  to  call  it 
half  a  million  !  That  word  million  cuts  a  great  swath 
in  men's  imaginations.  All  this  estimate  of  money  is 
sheer  ambition.  The  man  is  vain.  He  thinks  much 
oflnmself  on  account  of  money,  not  of  character.  A 
5,  man  who  is  openly  proud  of  .money  is  secretly  con 
temptuous  of  those  who  have  none. 

Another  man  wishes  to  see  the  world.  Every  dol- 
\  lar  means  travel.  A  thousand  dollars  means  Europe. 
Two  thousand  dollars  means  Egypt,  Palestine,  and 
Greece. 

Boys  dealing  in  smaller  sums  reckon  in  the  same 
way.  A  penny  means  a  stick  of  candy;  sixpence  is 
but  another  term  for  ball ;  a  shilling  means  a  kite ; 
and  fifty  cents,  a  jack-knife. 

The  young  "  Crack"  sees  in  his  money  a  skeleton 
wagon  and  a  fast  nag,  a  rousing  trot,  a  jolly  drink, 
and  a  smashing  party. 

But  many  and  many  a  weary  soul  sees  in  every  shil 
ling  bread,  rent,  fuel,  clothes.  There  be  thousands 
Vho  hold  on  to  virtue  by  hands  of  dollars  :  a  few  more 
save  them  ;  a  few  less,  and  they  are  lost.  Their  gayer 
sisters  see  feathered  hats  and  royal  silks  in  their  money, 
or  rather,  in  their  fathers'  and  their  husbands'. 

The^BQOr  scholar  passes  daily  by  the  stall  where 
books  tempt  his  poverty.  Poor  clothes  he  is  content 


to  wear ;  plain  and  everK^meagre  diet  he  is  willing  to 

Q  \ 


194  EYES  AND  EARS. 

subsist  upon ;  and,  as  for  all  the  gay  dissipations  and 
extravagant  wastes  of  fashionable  life,  he  looks  upon 
them  without  even  understanding  what  they  mean,  as 
a  child  looks  upon  the  Milky-Way,  in  the  heavens,  a 
glowing  band  of  far-away  and  unexplored  wonders. 
But,  0  those  books  !  He  looks  longingly  at  morning  ; 
he  peers  at  them  with  a  gentle  covetousness  at  night. 
He  imagines  new  devices  for  earning  a  few  dollars. 
He  ponders  whether  there  is  not  some  new  economy 
which  can  save  a,  few  shillings.  Arid  when  good  luck 
at  last  brings  a  score  of  dollars  to  him,  with  what  fever 
of  haste  does  he  get  rid  of  them,  fairly  running  to  the 
stall,  and  fearing,  at  every  step,  lest  some  fortunate 
man  should  have  seized  the  prize.  Wasteful  man ! 
that  night  saw  too  much  oil  burnt  out  in  poring  over 
the  joyful  treasure.  Books  are  what  his  money  is 
worth !  But  others  see  different  visions.  Money 
means  flowers  to  them.  New  roses,  the  latest  dahlia, 
the  new  camelia,  or  others  of  the  great  houri  band  of 
flowers  that  fill  the  florist's  paradise,  —  the/garden. 
Some  men  see  engravings  in  money  \  some,  pic- 

[   tures ;  some,  rare  copies  of  old  books ;  some,  curious 
missals.     Others,  when  you  say  money,  think  of  fruit- 

/    trees,  of  shrubbery^  of  -arbor^tums,  pmetums,  and\fru- 

^     *iAof>Kgjff  —  And  we  have  reason  to  believe  that  there 

y     are  some  poor  wretches  who,  not  content  with  any  one 

(___jnsanity,  see  pretty  much  all  these  things  by  turns. 

f  But  there  are  nobler  sights  than  these  to  be  seen 

through   the   golden   lens   of  wealth :    a   father   and 

mother  placed  in  comfort  in  their  old  age ;  a  young 

\  man  helped  through  college,  or  established  in  busi 
ness  ;  a  friend  extricated  from  ruin ;  a  poor  widow 
saved  from  beggary,  and  made  a  suppliant  before  God 


PET  NOTIONS.  195 

your  head,  every  day  that  she  lives ; 
the  sick  and  unfortunate  succored,  the  -erpharr  edu 
cated,  the  school  founded,  the  village  lined  with  shade- 
trees,  a  free  library  established,  and  a  thousand  such 
lika  things.  A  man  is  not  to  be  known  by  how  much 
money  he  has,  but  by  what  that  money  is  worth  to 
him.  If  it  is  worth  only  selfishness,  meanness,  stingi 
ness,  vanity,  and  haughty  state,  a  man  is  not  rich  if 
he  own  a  million  dollars.  If  it  mean  generosity,  pub 
lic  spirit,  social  comfort,  and  refinement,  then  he  is 
rich  on  a  few  hundred.  You  must  put  your  hand 
into  a  man's  heart  to  find  oui  how  much  he  is.worth, 
not  into  his  pocket. 


PET   NOTIONS. 


HE  old  grammars,  and  for  aught  WJB  know 
the  new  ones  too,  divide  verbs  into  regular, 
irregular,  and  defective.  'This  is  the  very 
division  which  we  should  apply  to  men ; 
only,  instead  of  defective,  we  should  say  streaked,  so 
that  all  men  are  divided  into  regular,  irregular,  and 
streaked.  Of  course,  the  first  two  include  the  moral 
elements,  and  the  last  is  the  term  for  all  the  whims, 
freaks,  and  eccentricities  of  men.  When  men  are 
more  remarkable  for  the  things  in  which  they  differ 
from" their  fellow-men  than  for  those  in  which  they 
agree  with  them,  they  are  eccentric. 

Every  village  and  every  neighborhood  has  its  queer 
men,  its  drolls,  and  its  oddities.     But,  besides  these 


196  EYES   AND   EARS. 

streaked  men,  who  do  all  things  in  a  whimsical  and 
uncommon  manner,  it  is  amusing  to  see  single  pecu 
liarities  in  men  of  the  regular  class.  As  cattle  and 
horses,  though  of  a  uniform  color,  often  have  some 
single  spot,  a  white  spot  in  the  face,  or  a  white  hoof, 
so  men,  almost  all  men,  have  some  queer  spot.  Of 
ten  it  is  known  only  to  their  most  intimate  friends. 
Sometimes  it  works  inwardly,  and  does  not  develop 
to  observation  until  some  trouble  or  grea,t  change  in 
life  lays  it  open.  There  are  in  old  castles  secret 
panel-doors,  leading  by  hidden  ways  to  concealed 
rooms,  which  the  owner  of  the  property  keeps  from 
the  knowledge  of  all  men,  except  some  trusted  ser 
vant,  or  his  oldest  son.  But  revolutions,  and  the 
pillaging  of  his  castle  by  unmannerly  soldiery,  some 
times  bring  them  to  light.  And  so  is  it  with  many 
a  curious  taste,  prejudice,  affection,  caprice,  or  whim, 
sometimes  worthy,  and  sometimes  foolish.  Indeed, 
we  have  known  hard  and  rugged  men,  of  a  severe 
face  and  stern  bearing,  hiding  away,  as  if  ashamed 
of  it,  some  delicate  and  tender  feeling,  soft  and 
sweet  as  a  woman's.  And  when  sickness  or  some 
sudden  rending  for  a  moment  revealed  the  secret, 
they  shrank  from  the  disclosure  almost  as  if  it  were 
a  disgrace. 

In  this  class  of  streaks,  we  have  noticed  none  more 
common  than  that  which  leads  men  to  be  more  vain 
of  some  quality  quite  aside  from  their  profession, 
than  of  all  the  deserved  and  well-earned  credit  of 
their  legitimate  business. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  was  accustomed  to  say,  that,  of  all 
his  compositions,  he  was  most  proud  of  his  composi 
tions  for  making  trees  grow.  The  same  is  yet  seen. 


PET  NOTIONS.  197 

Webster,  if  his  secret  heart  were  known,  was  more 
vain  of  his  sheep  and  cattle  than  of  his  speeches. 
While  the  whole  world  is  talking  of  some  poet, 
whose  ethereal  works  would  lead  you  to  think  that  he 
seldom  touched  the  earth,  except  as  birds  do,  with 
delicate  wing,  you  shall  be  surprised  to  find,  at  his 
table,  that  he  is  more  sensitive  about  his  wine  than 
about  his  verses.  His  poetry  is  his  business.  He 
expects  to  do  well  in  that.  But  wine  is  out  of  his 
line,  and  he  makes  a  pet  of  his  cellar. 

A  merchant  is  envied  by  all  his  fellows  for  his 
clear-headedness,  and  his  sagacious  business  opera 
tions.  But  we  dare  say  he  will  feel  more  compli 
mented  if  you  praise  his  horses  than  if  you  admire 
his  commercial  sagacity.  A  fine,  hearty,  manly 
friend,  admirably  qualified  for  solid  business,  thinks 
that  he  has  a  peculiar  gift  for  music.  He  sits  down 
every  night  at  his  much-complaining  violoncello,  and 
scrapes  and  sings  till  our  ears  are  as  hoarse  as  his 
throat.  And  a  delicate  compliment  to  his  musical 
talent  brings  upon  you  a  flood  of  sunshine  from  his 
honest  face,  and  establishes  your  reputation  for  dis 
cernment  forever.  Sometimes  a  merchant,  making 
money  easily,  and  just  as  easily  keeping  it,  looks 
upon  all  his  goods,  property,  and  funds  with  discon 
tent  ;  for  he  longs  to  be  an  orator !  He  meditates 
speeches.  At  sundry  little  meetings  he  gives  forth 
pet  speeches.  Ah,  he  tells  you  in  a  confidential  hour, 
"I  would  give  all  that  I  am  worth  if  I  could  only 
think  on  my  feet,  and  move  an  audience  to  my  words, 
as  I  will." 

The  old  lawyer  builds  a  country  house,  and  lays  out 
ten  acres.  That  house  of  his  own  planning  and  those 


198  EYES   AND   EARS. 

acres  are  more  to  him  than  all  his  skill  with  courts 
and  his  reputation  for  legal  learning.  Thus  it  goes. 
If  a  man  is  an  orator,  he  does  not  look  for  that,  but 
longs  to  paint  with  artists  ;  while  a  successful  painter 
is  hankering  after  the  laurels  which  are  supposed  to 
shade  the  brows  of  ready  speakers. 

We  have  known  men  quite  addicted  to  sewing  and 
knitting.  They  hemmed  towels  with  an  earnestness 
betokening  a  proper  regard  for  this  useful  accomplish 
ment  of  sewing.  Some  men  write  long  essays,  never 
to  be  published,  but  often  reviewed  with  fond  pride. 
Discoveries  are  made  in  sacred  literature,  —  new  the 
ories  of  prophecy,  new  renderings,  and  perverse  learn 
ing  enough  to  set  up  a  presbytery.  Some  men  are 
always  inventing,  some  tinkering,  some  building  un 
shapely  furniture,  which  the  wife  soon  stores  in  the 
garret. 

The  deacon  has  a  weakness  for  preaching  ;  and,  as 
he  cannot  quite  succeed,  he  puts  a  white  cravat  on, 
sleeks  down  his  hair,  and  looks  as  if  he  would  burst 
out  into  a  sermon,  if  you  only  touched  him.  The 
blacksmith  writes  poetry.  The  butcher,  having  had 
bad  luck  in  his  trade,  thinks  he  has  gifts  for  medicine, 
and  practises  alternately  in  each  department. 

And  so  the  world  goes.  We  are  prone  to  under 
value  the  things  which  we  can  do  easily,  and  therefore 
well,  and  to  pride  ourselves  upon  trifles,  although  we 
do  them  poorly,  because  men  are  surprised  that  we 
can  do  them  at  all. 

These  peculiarities  are  not  simply  amusing.  They 
are  a  testimony,  often,  of  a  yearning  after  things  more 
fine  than  belongs  to  a  trade,  more  beautiful  than  every 
day  business  furnishes,  and  purer  and  truer  than  many 


REASONS   FOR  NOT   WRITING   AN  ARTICLE.          199 

of  the  experiences  of  e very-day  life.  Sometimes  they 
may  be  but  vanities  ;  but  it  is  charitable  rather  to 
imagine  that  they  are  irregular  exhibitions  of  a  long 
ing  in  every  one  to  be  something  more  and  better 
than  he  is. 


REASONS  FOR  NOT  WRITING  AN  ARTICLE. 


R.  BONNER:  MY  DEAR  SIR,  — I  write  to  say 
that  circumstances  make  it  impossible  for 
me  to  send  you  an  article  this  week,  and  to 
ask  you  to  excuse  me.  The  fact  is,  that  I 
am  so  busy  with  both  eyes  and  ears  that  I  have  no 
time  to  write.  You  must  know  that  I  am  not  in  the 
city  at  this  present  writing,  but  some  forty  miles  up 
in  Westchester  County.  Perched  up  on  a  side-hill, 
whose  slope  toward  the  south  is  just  enough  for  the 
utmost  grace  in  lines,  is  a  pre-revolutionary  farm 
house.  The  timber  is  of  old  oak,  —  of  oak  that  has 
heard  the  British  cannon  from  the  ships  of  war  in  the 
Hudson  River  without  quaking.  It  is  a  one-story 
house,  so  low-jointed  that  I  can  reach  the  ceiling  with 
my  hand.  The  snug  rooms  are  all  of  a  suitable  small- 
ness,  and,  for  summer,  very  cheerful.  On  the  front, 
and  running  the  whole  length,  are  a  piazza,  a  stoop,  a 
portico,  a  veranda,  a  corridor,  and  a  balcony,  all  in 
one.  It  is  upon  this  said  arrangement  that  I  sit,  and 
from  this  I  must  render  a  reason  for  not  writing  the 
article  mentioned. 

In  the  first  place,  the  birds  make  so  much  noise 
that  I  can  hear  nothing  else,  except  the  wind  in  the 


200  EYES  AND  EARS. 

trees,  the  occasional  lowing  of  cows,  the  barking  of 
my  nearest  neighbor's  dogs  (two  of  which  he  is  fatten 
ing  for  the  cattle-show),  the  crowing  of  a  few  oratorical 
roosters  in  the  distance,  and  now  and  then  the  laugh 
ter  of  the  men  at  work  in  the  fields.  This  occupies 
my  ears  to  a  degree  that  unfits  them  for  anything  else. 

And,  as  for  my  eyes,  it  is  even  worse.  The  hills 
in  this  neighborhood  are  arranged  in  such  a  manner 
that  one's  eyes  are  perpetually  diverted  from  sober 
reading  to  look  at  their  graceful,  green  slopes,  their 
endlessly  varied  lines,  their  waving  grain.  Then  the 
distant  Highlands  draw  off  my  attention,  to  their  end 
less  diversities.  Carved  to  every  curve,  their  sides 
are  scarped  and  grooved,  ploughed  and  furrowed, 
until  the  whole  view  is  a  piece  of  gigantic  engineer 
ing, —  not  by  art  and  device  of  man's  hand,  but  by 
the  patience  of  slow-working  Nature.  Clouds  have 
done  what  no  edge  of  iron  or  steel  in  the  hands  of  a 
million  workmen  could  have  done.  For  these  floating 
engineers,  with  the  soft  touch  of  liquid  drops  sent 
down  upon  the  mountain-side,  have  hollowed  out 
valleys,  and  cut  the  hills  into  every  form  of  simple 
or  fantastic  beauty.  No  lever  can  move  such  rocks 
as  a  frozen  bubble  displaces.  No  tool  can  chisel  upon 
such  a  scale  as  do  edgeless  showers.  And  centuries 
sit  brooding  plans  of  change,  and  behold,  here  are 
their  works ! 

Now,  just  beneath  these  garnished  hills  is  the  Hud 
son  River.  Every  time  I  look  at  it  I  forget  to  look 
back  upon  my  paper.  It  is  not  possible  to  write. 
Just  now  I  had  a  thought.  But  ten  sloops  and 
schooners  were  just  then  flocking  round  the  point 
in  the  river.  I  have  always  had  an  idea  that  North 


REASONS   FOR  NOT   WRITING   AN   ARTICLE.          201 

River  sloops  were  coarse  and  ugly  craft,  fit  only  for 
carrying  bricks  and  lumber.  But  no  mistake  was  ever 
greater.  They  are  express  works  of  art.  They  were 
built  and  are  navigated  for  their  fine  effect.  Every 
villa  on  the  Hudson  is  incomplete  without  these  fleets 
of  sloops,  that  hover  in  the  distance  like  so  many  but 
terflies  sporting  in  the  summer  around  the  edge  of 
roadside  poqjs.  Perhaps  the  crews,  if  there  are  any 
crews  in  such  airy  and  graceful  looking  things,  seen 
at  this  distance,  think  that  they  are  carrying  an  inland 
trade.  It  may  be  that  those  near  at  hand  can  dis 
cover  rude  and  unshapely  things  about  these  craft. 
But  to  my  eye,  perched  on  my  front  stoop,  all  these 
white  fairies  of  the  river  are  merely  floating  past  the 
green  hills  for  picturesque  effect.  No  man  need  try 
to  persuade  me  that  they  carry  hay,  salt,  stone,  lime, 
bricks.  The  very  appearance  of  them,  from  these 
hills,  contradicts  the  supposition. 

There,  now,  just  as  I  am  getting  ready  to  write 
again,  up  comes  my  neighbor  to  know  about  that 
stone-wall  which  bounds  the  maple-lined,  lane,  by 
which,  you  know,  we  come  up  to  this  hundred-year- 
old  farm-house.  What  do  I  know  about  stone-walls  ? 
Fix  it  as  it  ought  to  be  fixed.  That  is  plain  enough. 
There  are  only  two  or  three  things  required  for  a 
good  stone-wall.  It  must  be  made  so  that  chipmonks 
can  run  in  and  out  easily;  it  must  have  woodbine 
enough,  in  spots ;  it  must  have  a  deal  of  mosses 
growing  on  it ;  and  it  must  be  broad  enough  on  the 
top  for  one  to  walk  on.  I  know  of  nothing  else 
which  a  good  wall  requires. 

Here  comes  a  carpenter  to  ask  about  the  kitchen 
which  he  is  building  in  the  rear  of  this  venerable 


202  EYES   AND  EARS. 

little  dwelling  aforesaid.  But  why  am  I  to  be  dis 
turbed  by  such  things  ?  Build  the  kitchen  if  you 
please,  sir,  in  such  a  way  that  the  cook  shall  always 
be  good-natured,  that  the  bread  shall  always  be  light, 
sweet,  and  raised  just  to  the  point  of  saccharine  fer 
mentation,  but  not  a  bit  beyond  it;  for  sour  bread 
makes  my  temper  sour.  And  also,  Mr.  Carpenter, 
please  build  the  kitchen  so  that,  if  the  cook  be  poor, 
somebody  will  always  come  and  marry  her  off;  and 
so  that,  if  good,  nobody  can  get  her.  With  such 
directions,  an  ordinarily  smart  carpenter  ought  not 
to  trouble  me  with  questions. 

Now  everybody  is  possessed  !  Here  is  the  mason, 
asking  about  the  chimney !  Well,  sir,  about  the 
chimney  ;  this  is  it.  Build  it  so  that  it  will  never 
smoke  ;  so  that  it  will  draw  just  enough,  and  not  a 
bit  too  much  ;  so  that  once  in  a  while  we  can  hear 
the  storm-wind  rumble  in  the  flues  ;  so  that  in  winter 
great  logs  can  be  burned  in  its  fireplace,  and  all 
manner  of  dreamy  pictures  fall  upon  its  fleecy  ashes ; 
and,  finally,  build  it  so  that  cockroaches  can't,  and 
crickets  can,  run  in  and  out  of  its  crevices !  Stop 
a  minute  !  I  want  a  brick  oven,  —  none  of  your 
iron-cheeked  stove-ovens  will  do  for  the  country ! 
Do  you  suppose  that  a  genuine,  old-fashioned  Indian 
baked  pudding  could  be  made  in  one  of  your  fuligi 
nous  modern  iron  stoves  ?  Can  anything  but  a  real 
old  brick  oven  bring  forth  brown  bread,  or  baked 
-beans,  golden-russet,  colored  with  a  piece  of  pork 
cut  criss-cross  on  the  top,  of  a  beautiful  bronze  color  ? 
There,  now,  you  know  all  I  can  tell  you.  Go  build 
your  kitchen ! 

Now,  my  dear  Mr.  Bonner,  can  any  man  be  ex- 


HEALTH  AND  EDUCATION.  203 

pected  to  write  articles  under  such  circumstances  ? 
I  must  be  excused.  Tell  your  readers,  if  you  please, 
that  my  "  eyes  and  ears "  are  occupied  upon  other 
things,  and  cannot  be  used  for  literary  purposes  this 
week. 


HEALTH    AND    EDUCATION. 

GREAT  amount  of  information  has  been 
spread  through  the  community  in  regard 
to  the  laws  and  conditions  of  health,  and 
there  has  been  a  corresponding  increase  of 
knowledge.  Nor  has  the  movement  been  undertaken 
a  moment  too  soon.  Wholesome  diet,  the  avoidance 
of  feverish  stimulants,  pure  fresh  air,  and  out-of-door 
exercises  are  the  simple  expedients  to  which  we  trust. 
But,  in  so  far  as  special  efforts  are  required,  they 
should  be  brought  to  bear  upon  the  development  of 
sound  nervous  force.  The  brain  and  nervous  sys 
tem  are  from  an  early  age,  in  this  country,  brought 
under  a  very  great  excitement.  Our  people  are  con 
stitutionally  excitable :  the  climate  is  exciting,  the 
customs  and  habits  of  society  tend  to  bring  forward 
our  children  very  early ;  all  the  pursuits  of  life,  with 
us,  are  conducted  with  intensity,  and  almost  unre 
lieved  continuity.  Our  public  affairs  partake  of  this 
inflammable  tendency,  and  are  begun  and  conducted 
with  frequent  and  intense  excitements  of  the  whole 
community.  In  short,  the  whole  character  and  con 
dition  of  our  people  is  such,  that  the  brain  and 
nervous  system  are  kept  under  a  very  high  pressure 
from  an  early  age  in  life. 


204  EYES  AND  EARS. 

Against  the  evil  tendency  of  this  undue  partial 
development  there  have  been  very  few  counteracting 
agencies.  Our  people  have  not  been  given  to  amuse 
ments.  They  are  not  encouraged  to  have  holidays. 
Even  those  amusements  which  have  maintained  them 
selves  have  been,  for  the  most  part,  of  a  kind  that 
intensified  the  evil.  When  a  man  has  all  day  long 
fevered  his  brain  in  the  counting-room  or  office,  he 
goes  to  a  theatre  or  opera  at  night,  substituting  another 
cause  of  excitement,  but  directed  upon  the  overtasked 
brain.  Others,  seriously  inclined,  attend  religious 
meetings,  young  men's  associations,  debating  clubs, 
and  other  like  gatherings,  which,  in  their  own  way, 
tax  the  brain. 

Now,  what  is  needed  in  the  community  is  vigorous 
out-of-door  recreation,  developing  the  muscles  and 
aiding  digestion,  accessible  to  all,  and  removed  from 
special  temptations  to  immoralities. 

There  is  no  one  way  of  meeting  this  want.  But  the 
public  should  give  encouragement  to  every  wholesome 
recreation  that  takes  people  out  of  doors,  and  gives 
them  real  bone-building  exercise.  Yachting  is  good 
for  gentlemen  of  property.  A  yacht  is  nothing  but 
the  fast  horse  of  the  sea.  Lantern  trots,  and  the  Ma 
ria  sails,  but  both  of  them  are  designed  to  run  upon 
the  fastest  time-bill.  But  how  many  men  can  own 
the  one  or  the  other  ?  It  is  said  —  how  truly  we  do 
not  know  —  that  one  of  the  most  enterprising  of  all 
gentlemen  of  the  press,  in  New  York,  has  given  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  Lantern  and  his  mate.  If  any 
one  will  provide  us  with  the  money,  and  another  Lan 
tern,  we  will  do  the  same,  and  we  will  agree  to  find  a 
hundred  young  men  that  would  consent  to  do  it  too ! 


HEALTH  AND   EDUCATION.  205 

When  a  man  puts  his  saddle  on  the  back  of  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  an  evening  ride,  he  may  be  said 
fairly  to  have  got  Mammon  under  him !  We  know 
that  "  money  makes  the  mare  go."  But  ten  thousand 
dollars  with  bits  in  its  mouth,  and  Jehu  behind  to 
drive,  must  carry  a  man  at  a  fearful  pace ! 

But  it  is  not  needful  to  ride  lightning  in  order  to 
enjoy  a  drive.  Ten  thousand  men  in  New  York  and 
Brooklyn  are  able  to  drive  out  every  afternoon  with 
their  families,  with  excellent,  and  not  very  expensive 
horses.  Every  merchant,  lawyer,  and  business  man, 
who  can  afford  it,  would  do  well  to  take  this  most 
wholesome  exercise. 

But  only  a  hundredth  or  thousandth  part  of  the 
community  are  thus  provided  for.  It  is  well,  there 
fore,  that  so  many  muscular  games  are  coming  into 
vogue.  Base-ball  and  cricket  are  comparatively  in 
expensive,  and  open  to  all,  and  one  can  hardly  con 
ceive  of  better  exercise.  Boat-clubs  for  rowing  are 
springing  up  in  all  our  towns  that  have  accessible 
waters.  This  gives  an  admirable  development  to  the 
muscles.  But  all  these  are  yet  but  a  little  for  the 
thousands  who  need  exercise. 

There  ought  to  be  gymnastic  grounds  and  good 
bowling-alleys,  in  connection  with  reading-rooms,  in 
every  ward  of  the  city,  under  judicious  management, 
where,  for  a  small  fee,  every  young  man  might  find 
various  wholesome  exercises,  and  withal  good  society, 
without  the  temptations  which  surround  all  the  alleys 
and  rooms  of  the  city,  kept  for  bowling  and  billiards. 
It  seems  surprising,  while  so  many  young  men's  asso 
ciations  are  organized,  whose  main  trouble  it  is  to 
find  something  to  do,  that  some  Christian  association 


206  EYES  AND   EARS. 

should  not  undertake  this  important  reformation,  and 
give  to  the  young  men  of  our  cities  the  means  of 
physical  vigor  and  health,  separated  from  temptations 
to  vice.  It  would  be  a  very  gospel.  « 

But  while  provision  is  made  for  the  development  of 
the  physical  frame,  there  is  much  to  be  learned,  and 
much  wisdom  to  be  exercised,  in  dealing  with  the 
mind.  And  we  are  much  surprised,  from  some  little 
observation,  to  see  how  apparently  heedless  are  many 
of  the  teachers  in  our  schools  for  girls.  The  pressure 
for  the  last  year  at  any  rate  upon  the  girls  who  are 
to  graduate  is  such  as  imperils  their  health  for  life. 
We  know  of  many  young  ladies  who  are  exercised 
in  study  night  and  day  with  such  unremitting 
severity,  that  it  seems  impossible  that  they  will  not 
be  exhausted  by  it.  We  have  known  several  in 
stances  in  which  years  of  feebleness  and  nervous 
prostration  followed  the  graduating  year.  If  teachers 
are  so  ignorant  or  heedless  of  the  laws  of  health, 
what  shall  we  expect  of  common  people  ?  Parents 
should  look  into  this.  Especially  physicians,  and 
gentlemen  who  are  informed  on  such  subjects,  ought 
to  exert  an  influence  upon  ambitious  schools  and 
seminaries.  For  an  education  that  treads  down  the 
constitution  of  a  child  is  a  very  doubtful  benefit. 


ON  THE  PLEASURES   OF   BEING  A  PUBLIC  MAN.     207 


ON  THE  PLEASURES   OF  BEING  A  PUBLIC  MAN. 

LL  men  are,  to  some  extent,  public  men. 
They  have  public  duties  to  perform.  As 
householders,  voters,  jurymen,  in  short,  as 
citizens,  they  are  public  men.  But  some 
men  are  obliged  to  perform  their  professional  duties 
in  open  publicity.  They  are  always  acting  before 
men,  and  their  daily  life  is  upon  exhibition.  Now 
there  are  a  great  many  persons  in  Relatively  private 
life  who  quite  envy  such  persons  as  the  peculiar 
favorites  of  fortune  ;  and  not  a  few  make  it  an  am 
bition  to  attain  such  conspicuity.  Ah,  to  see  them 
selves  in  a  newspaper,  placarded  along  the  streets, 
advertised  !  To  hear  their  names  and  deeds  in  men's 
mouths  !  —  they  think  there  would  be  nothing  like  it ! 
And,  we  assure  them,  that  there  is  nothing  like  it. 

From  a  public  man,  curiosity,  sympathy,  and  an 
tagonism  shear  oif  all  privacy,  and  almost  all  true 
personality.  Your  affairs  are  everybody's  business. 
Your  movements  are  everybody's  observation. .  What 
you  do  or  say,  or  do  not  do  or  say ;  what  you  wear, 
where  you  go,  with  whom  you  walk,  when  you  get 
up,  and  when  lie  down  ;  what  it  costs  you  to  live, 
and  how  you  get  your  means  to  pay  for  your  living  ; 
who  makes  your  coats,  or  boots  ;  who  shaves  your 
face,  —  all  are  diligently  observed  and  reported.  No 
privacy  is  allowed  to  a  public  man.  Everybody  uses 
him  as  common  property.  If  a  good  story  needs  a 
known  person  to  give  it  piquancy,  his  name  is  vised 
upon  it  like  a  snapper  on  a  whip-lash.  Not  only  do 


208  EYES   AND  EARS. 

people  use  him  up  in  conversation,  but  it  makes  little 
difference  at  length  whether  he  is  present  or  absent. 
"  0,  he  is  a  public  man  !  "  is  excuse  enough  for  say 
ing  the  rudest  things ;  and  of  all  of  them,  none  is  so 
rude  as  blunt  praise  to  his  face  ! 

Thus  he  is  rained  upon  with  himself.  He  reads 
about  himself,  runs  over  himself  in  the  streets,  finds 
himself  figuring  in  the  newspaper  stories,  and  all 
beggars,  and  errand-hunters,  and  solicitors  for  public 
service,  begin  by  setting  him  before  himself  in  a 
public  point  of  view.  And,  that  nothing  may  be 
lacking,  people  wonder  how  it  is  that  he  is  always 
contriving  to  get  himself  before  the  public ! 

One  of  the  original  faculties  of  the  human  mind, 
fundamental  and  universal,  is  the  love  of  other 
peoples  private  affairs.  But  strong  as  this  faculty 
is,  its  action  is  somewhat  guarded  and  concealed 
in  the  private  relations  of  common  citizens ;  but 
never  in  respect  to  public  men !  If  he  does  not 
wish  to  be  talked  about,  what  is  he  a  public  man 
for?  He  must  expect  people  to  take  an  interest  in 
him,  and  everything  that  belongs  to  him.  How  does 
he  eat  and  drink  ?  What  is  his  income  ?  Where 
does  he  get  it  and  how  spend  it?  The  less  proper 
it  is  that  anything  should  be  known,  the  more  exqui 
site  is  the  relish  of  knowing  it. 

It  was  Huber,  we  believe,  who  first  constructed 
glass  hives,  through  which  bees  could  be  seen  at  all 
hours  and  during  every  process  of  work.  Public 
men  are  bees  working  in  a  glass  hive,  and  curious 
spectators  enjoy  themselves  in  watching  every  secret 
movement  as  if  it  were  a  study  in  natural  history. 

Nor  is  it  allowed  him  to  seem  to  know  all  this.     If 


ON  THE   PLEASURES   OF   BEING  A  PUBLIC  MAN.     209 

people  stare  at  him  in  the  street,  or  nudge  each  other 
in  the  ferry-boat  and  point  at  him,  or  if  a  bevy  of 
young  ladies  whisper  his  name  so  that  he  may  hear 
it  at  ten  steps  off,  he  yet  must  keep  on  a  look  of 
blessed  unconsciousness !  If  he  takes  a  lunch  at  the 
restaurant,  and  twenty  gentlemen  subside  from  their 
knives  and  forks,  to  watch,  square-faced  and  star- 
ingly,  what  he  orders,  and  what  becomes  of  it ;  if  he 
looks  up  and  faces  his  spectators,  of  course  they  will 
not  shrink  or  look  down.  One  might  as  well  try  to 
make  a  battery  of  cannon  wink  with  a  look.  At 
length  a  public  man  submits,  and  comes  to  think  that 
he  has  no  privacy.  He  is  placed  upon  a  pivot  of  ob 
servation,  like  a  whirligig  on  a  steeple,  watched  in 
all  weather,  for  men's  amusement  or  convenience. 
People  expect  him  to  be  peculiar.  They  are  waiting 
for  something  characteristic.  They  hope  for  some 
remarkable  speech,  some  eccentricity,  some  oddity  or 
striking  conduct,  or  misconduct. 

But  all  these  things  are  only  the  fringe  of  the 
garment.  Who  can  register  the  solicitations  to 
which  he  is  subject  ?  Is  he  reputed  wealthy,  —  men 
swarm  upon  him  as  summer  flies  upon  honey.  Is  he 
"influential"  and  "popular,"  —  who  can  enumerate 
the  variety  and  number  of  "  causes "  that  entirely 
live  upon  the  help  derived  from  the  "  influence  "  of 
those  that  are  called  to  help  them  ?  He  is  assailed 
for  autographs,  for  signatures  to  all  sorts  of  com 
mendatory  letters.  One  man  wants  his  name  to  a 
petition  for  pardoning  a  man  who  was  sent  to  states- 
prison  for  arson,  and  who,  having  experienced  relig 
ion,  it  is  supposed  would  now  be  a  useful  member  of 
society.  Another  man  wishes  his  name  to  a  recom- 


210  EYES   AND   EARS. 

mendation  of  insect  powders  and  rat  pills,  or  to  a 
good  and  pious  book,  or  to  get  a  man  whom  he  does 
not  know  a  place  in  a  store  of  which  he  never  heard, 
or  to  put  a  worthy  man  into  the  navy-yard  or  on  the 
"  watch,"  or  "  police,  "  or  into  the  railroad  service. 

But  all  these  things  are  light  in  comparison  with 
expectations  of  charity  at  his  hand.  For  a  public 
man  is  expected  to  pay  liberally  for  all  the  annoy 
ances  which  are  heaped  upon  him.  He  is  a  kind  of 
public  fountain,  and  everybody  has  a  right  to  fill  his 
cup  or  bucket  if  he  can.  After  he  has  given,  and 
given,  till  the  pump  sucks,  and  the  pocket-well  is  dry, 
he  is  gravely  reproved  for  not  filling  another  bucket 
by  being  told,  "Persons  in  your  situation  are  expected 
to  be  liberal";  or  "Public  men  owe  their  standing 
to  the  public  favor,  and  ought  not  be  niggardly  "  ;  or, 
"  Men  are  expected  to  pay  a  tax  for  their  greatness." 

Besides  all  this,  there  is  the  newspaper  part  of  a 
public  man's  experience.  It  is  so  delightful  to  find 
your  affairs  arranged  for  you,  and  to  learn  for  the 
first  time,  in  the  papers,  where  you  have  been,  what 
you  have  said,  and  what  has  happened  to  you ! 
A  man  finds  that  he  has  had  many  remarkable 
experiences,  of  which  he  was  before  quite  uncon 
scious.  And  then,  if  he  be  a  "  public  man,"  in 
political  affairs,  he  will  have  an  interesting  oppor 
tunity  of  finding  out  what  people  think  of  him !  He 
will  see  himself  flagellated  through  the  land,  his 
words  distorted,  his  actions  tortured  and  misrepre 
sented,  or,  if  his  politics  are  theological,  he  will  find 
great  opportunities  for  self-examination  in  the  relig 
ious  newspapers. 

At  length,  a  man  grows  nervous.     The  sound  of 


CHIMNEY-SWALLOWS.  211 

his  bell  makes  him  start  like  a  pistol-shot.  He  longs 
for  rest.  No  luxury  seems  to  him  like  that  of  being 
let  alone.  The  very  people  whom  he  would  like  to 
have  near  him  keep  away  through  delicacy,  and  leave 
him  a  prey  to  the  insatiate  pursuers  of  "  public  men." 
Is  there  no  remedy  ?  Can  we  not  devise  a  net,  as 
we  do  for  horses,  to  keep  off  gad-flies  ? 

If  we  ever  become  supreme  —  an  absolute  monarch 
—  we  shall  change  things  a  little.  When  any  public 
servant  has  done  well  and  deserves  reward,  we  shall 
say,  "  For  your  meritorious  services  to  the  state,  we 
give  you  the  privilege  of  four  months'  retirement." 
But  when  evil  men  shall  be  brought  up  for  punish 
ment,  we  shall  condemn  them  to  four  or  six  months', 
or  a  year's  "public  life,"  according  to  the  heinous- 
ness  of  their  offence,  and  the  severity  required  in 
punishment ! 


CHIMNEY- SWALLOWS. 


VERY  one  knows,  who  lives  in  the  country, 
what  a  chimney-swallow  is.  They  are  among 
the  birds  that  seem  to  love  the  neighborhood 
1  of  man.  Many  birds  there  are  that  nestle  con 
fidingly  in  the  protection  of  their  superiors,  and  are  sel 
dom  found  nesting  or  breeding  far  from  human  habita 
tions.  The  wren  builds  close  to  your  door.  Sparrows 
and  robins,  if  well  treated,  will  make  their  nests  right 
under  your  window,  in  some  favorite  tree,  and  will 
teach  you,  if  you  choose  to  go  into  the  business,  how 
to  build  bird's-nests,  lay  eggs,  hatch  out  young  birds, 


212  EYES   AND   EARS. 

and  feed  the  tenderlings.  A  great  deal  of  politeness 
and  fidelity  may  be  learned.  The  female  bird  is  waited 
upon,  fed,  cheered  with  singing,  during  her  incuba 
tion,  in  a  manner  that  might  give  lessons  to  the  house 
hold.  Nay,  when  she  needs  exercise  and  recreation, 
her  husband  very  demurely  takes  her  place,  and  keeps 
the  eggs  warm  in  the  most  gentlemanly  way.  This  is 
equivalent,  we  suppose,  to  rocking  the  cradle. 

Barn-swallows  have  a  very  sensible  appreciation  of 
the  pleasures  of  an  ample  barn.  A  barn  might  not  be 
found  quite  the  thing  to  live  in  (although  we  have  seen 
many  a  place  where  we  would  take  the  barn  sooner 
than  the  house),  but  it  is  one  of  the  most  charming 
places  in  a  summer  day  to  lounge,  read,  or  nap  in. 
And  as  you  lie  on  your  back  upon  the  sweet-scented 
hay-mow,  or  upon  clean  straw  thrown  down  on  the 
great  floor,  reading  books  of  natural  history,  or  suck 
ing  honey  out  of  Keats,  it  is  very  pleasant  to  see  the 
flitting  swallows  glance  in  and  out,  or  course  about 
under  the  roof,  with  motion  so  lithe  and  rapid  as  to 
seem  more  like  the  glancing  of  shadows  than  the 
winging  of  birds.  Their  mud  nests  are  clean,  if  they 
are  made  of  dirt.  And  you  would  never  dream  from 
their  feathers  what  sort  of  a  house  they  lived  in. 

But  these  birds  have  flown  into  this  article  una 
wares,  for  it  was  of  chimney -swallows  that  we  began 
to  write,  and  they  are  just  now  roaring  in  the  little 
stubbed  chimney  behind  us,  to  remind  us  of  our  duty. 
Every  evening  we  hear  them.  For  a  nest  of  young 
ones  brings  the  parents  in  with  food  early  and  late, 
and  every  entrance  or  exit  is  like  a  distant  roll  of 
thunder,  or  like  those  old-fashioned  rumblings  of  high 
winds  in  the  chimney  which  made  us  children  think 


CHIMNEY-SWALLOWS.  213 

that  all  out  of  doors  was  coming  down  the  chimney 
in  stormy  nights.  These  little  architects  build  their 
simple  nests  upon  the  sides  of  the  chimney  with  sticks, 
which  they  are  said  to  break  off  from  dead  branches 
of  trees,  though  they  might  more  easily  pick  them  up 
already  prepared.  But  they  doubtless  have  their  own 
reasons  for  cutting  their  own  timber.  Then  these  are 
glued  to  the  wall  by  a  saliva  which  they  secrete,  so 
that  they  carry  their  mortar  in  their  mouths,  and  use 
their  bills  for  trowels.  When  the  young  are  ready 
to  leave,  they  climb  up  the  chimney  to  the  top  by 
means  of  their  sharp  claws,  aided  by  their  tail-feath 
ers,  which  are  short,  stiff,  and  at  the  end  armed  with 
sharp  spines.  Two  broods  are  reared  in  a  season. 

From  the  few  which  congregate  in  any  one  neigh 
borhood,  one  would  not  suspect  the  great  numbers 
which  assemble  at  the  end  of  the  season.  Audubon 
estimated  that  nine  thousand  entered  a  large  sycamore 
tree  every  night,  to  roost,  near  Louisville,  Ky. 

Sometimes  the  little  nest  has  been  slighted  in  build 
ing,  or  the  weight  proves  too  great,  and  down  it  comes 
into  the  fireplace,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  chil 
dren,  who  are  all  a-fever  to  hold  in  their  hands  these 
clean,  bright-eyed  little  fellows.  Who  would  suspect 
that  they  had  ever  been  bred  in  such  a  flue  ? 

And  it  was  just  this  thought  that  set  us  to  writing. 
Because  a  bird  lives  in  a  chimney  he  need  not  be 
smutty.  There  is  many  a  fine  feather  that  lives  in  a 
chimney-corner.  Nor  are  birds  the  only  instances. 
Many  men  are  born  in  a  garret  or  in  a  cellar,  who  fly 
out  of  it,  as  soon  as  fledged,  as  fine  as  anybody.  A 
lowly  home  has  reared  many  high  natures.  On  these 
bare  sticks,  right  against  the  bricks,  in  this  smoky  flue, 


214  EYES  AND  EARS. 

the  eggs  are  laid,  the  brooding  goes  on,  the  young  are 
hatched,  fed,  grown.  But  then  comes  the  day  when 
they  spread  the  wing,  and  the  whole  heaven  is  theirs ! 
From  morning  to  night  they  cannot  touch  the  bounds 
of  their  liberty.  And  in  like  manner  it  is  with  the  hu 
man  soul  that  has  learned  to  know  its  liberty.  Born 
in  a  body,  pent  up,  and  cramped,  it  seems  imprisoned 
in  a  mere  smoky  flue  for  passions.  But  when  once 
Faith  has  taught  the  soul  that  it  has  wings,  then  it 
begins  to  fly,  and  flying,  finds  that  all  God's  domain 
is  its  liberty.  And  as  the  swallow  that  comes  back  to 
roost  in  its  hard  hole  at  night  is  quite  content,  so  that 
the  morning  gives  it  again  all  the  bright  heavens  for 
its  soaring-ground,  so  may  men,  close  quartered  and 
cramped  in  bodily  accommodations,  be  quite  patient 
of  their  narrow  bounds,  for  their  thoughts  may  fly  out 
every  day  gloriously. 

And  as,  in  autumn,  these  children  of  the  chimney 
gather  in  flocks  and  fly  away  to  heavens  without  a 
winter,  so  men  shall  find  a  day  when  they  too  shall 
migrate ;  and  rising  into  a  higher  sphere,  without 
storm  or  winter,  shall  remember  the  troubles  of  this 
mortal  life,  as  birds  in  Florida  may  be  supposed  to 
remember  the  northern  chills  which  drove  them  forth 
to  a  fairer  clime ! 


THE   FARM.  215 


THE    FARM. 


T  once  befell  me  to  buy  a  small  farm.  Com 
pared  with  my  wants,  it  was  large  ;  and  yet 
larger,  if  compared  with  my  ability  to  de 
velop  its  resources. 
There  is  a  distinct  joy  in  owning  land,  unlike  that 
which  you  have  in  money,  in  houses,  in  books,  pic 
tures,  or  anything  else  which  men  have  devised. 
Personal  property  brings  you  into  society  with  men. 
But  land  is  a  part  of  God's  estate  in  the  globe ;  and 
when  a  parcel  of  ground  is  deeded  to  you,  and  you 
walk  over  it,  and  call  it  your  own,  it  seems  as  if  you 
had  come  into  partnership  with  the  Original  Proprietor 
of  the  earth.  Nothing  removes  your  property  from 
its  firm  foundations.  No  wind  can  wreck  it,  nor 
rains  dissolve  it,  nor  decay  take  it  down.  The  sills 
will  never  rot,  and  nothing  will  ever  sway  or  sag  it. 
There  it  lies,  firm,  deep  (a  great  deal  deeper  than  you 
will  ever  care  to  go  down),  inexpugnable  to  summer 
or  winter,  with  all  their  silent  forces  or  their  boister 
ous  storms.  And  it  is  yours.  Since  the  planet  set 
up  for  itself,  your  land  has  been  preparing.  Innu 
merable  myriads  of  leaves  have  grown  and  fallen,  to 
form  its  soil.  Grasses  and  roots,  for  whose  numbers 
there  can  be  no  arithmetic,  have  helped  on  the  culture. 
Rocks  have  slowly  crumbled  to  form  its  loam.  Insects 
have  made  laboratories  of  themselves,  secreting  and 
elaborating  various  qualities,  which,  at  their  autumnal 
death,  have  gone  back  to  the  soil  to  enrich  it.  Worms 
have  bored  and  dug  air-passages  through  it  for  ages 


216  EYES   AND  EARS. 

before  a  plough  was  known  on  earth.  Winter  frosts 
have  locked  and  unlocked  its  clay  ;  rains  have  brought 
down  upon  it  from  the  air  minute  medicines.  You 
stand  upon  a  history  without  a  record.  You  own 
that  which,  if  you  could  trace  back  its  changes,  would 
carry  you  beyond  the  flood,  beyond  the  garden  of 
Eden,  and  a  good  deal  farther  on  than  that !  God 
has  had  millions  and  millions  of  unhired,  but  not 
unpaid,  laborers  at  work  on  this  soil.  It  is  burial- 
ground  for  minute  atoms  of  former  swarms  and  tribes 
beyond  all  stretch  of  numbers.  Ages  have  shaken 
down  their  dust  here.  And  my  foot  treads  upon  ten 
thousand  buried  years. 

If  I  think  downward,  what  is  the  mysterious  in 
terior  of  this  silent  earth  ?  How  far  inward  should 
we  go  before  we  felt  the  heat  of  that  fire-pulse  which 
throbs  in  the  molten  middle  of  the  globe  ?  And,  if 
we  look  outward,  what  realms  has  not  this  farm  trav 
ersed  in  its  mighty  rounds,  turning  its  face  in  suc 
cession  to  every  star  in  the  solar  concave  ! 

But  I  cannot  honestly  say  that  it  was  the  relation 
of  this  interesting  piece  of  land  to  the  stars,  or  to 
the  centre  of  the  earth,  nor  the  force  of  any  such 
romantic  reflections  upon  bugs  and  decaying  grasses, 
and  air-tillage,  and  storm-washes,  and  all  that,  which 
led  me  to  buy  this  farm.  Nor  was  it  that  famous 
trees  beckoned  me.  For,  besides  two  noble  hickories, 
one  gigantic  apple-tree  (with  which  I  defy  competition 
on  the  continent),  one  tulip-tree  (with  a  Latin  name 
—  Liriodendron  Tuliplfera  —  sweet  enough  for  lovers' 
lips  in  twilight  hours),  and  one  venerable  branch- 
broken  and  rugged  old  pine,  that  sighs  and  sings  to 
the  wind  on  the  lawn,  —  there  are  none  worth  a 


THE   FARM.  217 

thought.  To  be  sure,  a  double  row  of  maples  lines 
the  avenue.  But  though  a  maple-tree  is  a  clean, 
useful,  excellent  tree,  it  has  nothing  in  it  that  touches 
the  imagination.  It  is  a  round,  compact,  and  proper 
tree,  like  many  excellent  people  of  good  sense  and 
homely  kindness,  but  without  any  grandeur  or  wild- 
ness  of  imagination.  Maple-trees  are  the  cows  of 
trees  (spring-milked),  plain,  good,  useful,  but  not 
adorable. 

I  knew  that  the  place  was  good  for  grass,  for  grain, 
and  for  fruits,  of  all  of  which  I  talked  a  good  deal 
during  the  preliminary  approaches  to  a  purchase, 
but  for  which  I  cared  about  as  much  as  I  should 
whether  the  inside  of  my  boots  were  red  or  yellow. 

If  the  thing  must  be  told,  and  I  mention  it,  MR. 
BONNER,  to  you  confidentially,  it  was  the  remarkable 
aptitude  of  the  place  for  eye-crops  that  caught  my 
fancy.  It  was  not  so  much  what  grew  upon  the  place, 
as  what  you  could  see  off  from  it,  that  won  me.  It 
is  a  great  stand  for  the  eye.  If  a  man  can  get  rich 
by  looking;  I  am  on  the  royal  road  to  wealth.  And, 
indeed,  it  is  true  wealth  that  the  eye  gets,  and  the 
ear,  and  all  the  finer  senses  ;  —  riches  that  cannot 
be  hoarded  or  squandered ;  that  all  may  have  in 
common  ;  that  come  without  meanness,  and  abide 
without  corrupting.  So  long  as  it  remains  true 
that  the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,  and  the 
earth  his  handiwork,  so  long  will  men  find  both 
heart-wealth  and  strength,  by  a  reverent  admiration 
of  the  one  and  a  sympathetic  familiarity  with  the 
other. 


10 


218  EYES   AND   EARS. 


THE    HIGHWAY    OF    THE    PEOPLE. 

popular  rights  and  benefits  depended  upon 
the  fidelity  and  honesty  of  political  parties, 
we  should  have  little  faith  in  their  long  con 
tinuance.  Men  are  both  proud  and  selfish. 
Nor  in  public  affairs  has  Christianity  countervailed 
even  to  the  small  degree  manifest  in  social  affairs.  As 
fast  as  men  rise  above  the  average  of  their  fellows,  they 
are  apt  to  grow  in  self-importance,  to  look  down  upon 
those  below  them,  first  with  pity,  and  then  with  some 
degree  of  disguised  contempt.  And  the  prosperous 
are  always  tempted  to  form  themselves  into  a  class, 
and  rule  the  unprospered. 

It  is,  therefore,  a  sign  of  good  in  our  age,  that  the 
prosperity  of  the  common  people  has  become  so  asso 
ciated  with  the  very  elements  of  convenience,  that, 
whatever  men  do  as  classes  to  favor  themselves,  in  the 
long  run  benefits  the  whole  community. 

Does  a  man  wish  to  be  a  profound  scholar?  How 
shall  he  live,  unless  he  make  his  learning  of  some  use  ? 
The  price  which  he  pays  for  eminence  is,  that  he  shall 
enlighten  the  community  as  he  goes  up. 

None  of  the  liberal  professions  disdains  the  most 
comprehensive  and  profound  learning  ;  but  it  must  be 
learning  which  shall  bring  a  man  into  service  and 
sympathy  with  the  people,  or  he  will  walk  almost 
alone.  There  is  no  government  to  patronize  any 
thing.  There  is  no  learned  class  in  our  midst.  There 
is  110  sufficient  number  of  rich  men  to  hold  out  a  hope 
to  any  that  they  may  despise  or  neglect  the  common 


THE  HIGHWAY  OF  THE  PEOPLE.        219 

people.     It  is  to  the  masses  of  the  community  that 
men  must  look  for  support. 

When  it  was  attempted,  in  New  York,  to  establish 
music  for  the  benefit  of  the  rich,  the  opera  failed.  Nor 
did  it  succeed  until  it  came  within  the  reach,  and  so 
licited  the  sympathy,  of  common  people.  Lectures, 
literary  enterprises,  papers,  books,  all  are  obliged  to 
ask  the  common  people  whether  they  may  succeed. 
Even  Science  cannot  refuse  to  come  from  her  labora 
tory  or  descend  from  her  observatory.  It  is  found 
that  a  general,  popular  sympathy  in  scientific  matters 
forms  a  public  atmosphere  in  which  philosophers  thrive. 
The  American  Scientific  Convention  is  eminently  phil 
osophical  and  wise,  therefore,  in  opening  its  meetings 
to  the  community ;  in  going  from  place  to  place ;  in 
making  membership  open  to  all.  There  is  a  Divine 
hand  in  this  thing.  It  is  not  meant  that  men  should 
separate  themselves  from  their  fellows  as  fast  as  they 
are  prospered,  and  leave  the  poor,  the  ignorant,  the 
rude,  to  herd  together  at  the  bottom.  The  nature  of 
our  institutions,  the  habits  of  the  community,  the  very 
economic  laws  of  society,  compel  men,  in  going  up,  to 
draw  the  common  people  up  a  little  way  too. 

There  was  a  time  when  Art  looked,  for  patrons  and 
support,  to  nobles  and  monarchs.  And,  of  course, 
without  the  intention,  it  was  obliged  to  express  the 
ideas  which  the  ruling  classes  favored.  But  now, 
happily,  Art  must  draw  its  support  from  the  favor  of 
the  common  people.  It  is  vain  to  look  to  govern 
ments,  state  or  national.  They  are  poor  customers. 
Artists  that  wait  for  public  orders  will  die  in  the  poor- 
houses.  It  is  to  the  intelligent  and  flourishing  house 
holder  that  we  must  look  for  any  such  encouragement 


220  EYES  AND   EARS. 

of  Art  as  shall  make  it  flourishing.  And  artists  musl 
not  demand  that  people  shall  take  what  artists  like, 
unless  artists  are  first  willing  to  paint  what  the  people 
like.  It  is  all  very  well  to  rail  at  the  want  of  taste 
and  appreciation  in  the  community.  It  is  the  artist's 
business  to  educate  the  community.  Even  in  a  com 
mercial  point  of  view  it  is  necessary.  He  must  pre 
pare  his  market.  Portraiture  always  thrives,  and 
always  will,  as  long  as  men  are  vain  or  their  friends 
fond.  But  beyond  this,  Art  will  prosper  in  proportion 
as  it  speaks  to  the  wants  and  feelings  of  common  peo 
ple.  And  long  ago  this  truth  has  been  seen  and  obeyed, 
Look  at  the  fabrics  sold  for  a  price  within  reach  of  the 
poor.  The  finest  forms  in  glass,  china,  wedgewood, 
or  clay,  put  classic  models  within  reach  of  every  table, 
The  cheapness  of  lithographs,  mezzotints,  etchings,  and 
photographs,  is  bringing  to  every  cottage-door  portfo 
lios  in  which  the  greatest  pictures,  statues,  buildings, 
and  memorials  of  past  and  triumphs  of  modern  Art 
are  represented.  That  which,  twenty  years  ago,  could 
be  found  only  among  the  rich,  to-day  may  be  had  by 
the  day-laborer.  This  is  the  true  levelling.  Lei 
knowledge,  art,  refinement,  be  brought  down,  as  the 
sunlight  is.  The  sun  is  no  poorer,  no  darker,  because 
the  world  has  fed  so  many  thousand  years  at  hie 
bosom.  Down  come  the  sheets  of  light,  flaming 
through  space,  flaming  over  all  the  earth,  enriching 
all  things  without  impoverishing  the  source  whence 
they  spring.  Let  knowledge,  beauty,  goodness,  shine 
down  upon  the  path,  and  make  the  way  plain  along 
which  the  people  are  to  tread ! 


ASKING    ADVICE,  AND   OXEN.  221 


ASKING    ADVICE,    AND    OXEN. 

DEAR  SIR:  I  know  that  you  are  able  to 
give  good  advice  upon  farm  interests  ;  at 
least,  upon  all  that  turns  upon  horses.  But 
are  you  also  posted  upon  other  things  ?  Do 
you  know  how  to  plough  ?  to  reap  ?  to  drain  ?  to 
build  walls  ?  Are  you  skilful  in  compost  ?  Can  you 
throw  light  upon  planting  out  strawberries  ?  pre 
paring  the  ground  for  a  pear-orchard  ?  Do  you  know 
how  to  lay  down  a  lawn,  to  plant  trees,  to  group 
them,  with  reference  to  their  forms,  their  colors,  and 
their  effects  at  all  seasons  ?  Well ;  if  you  cannot  help 
me  on  these  momentous  topics,  can  you  give  me  any 
advice  on  the  subject  of  oxen  ?  Do  you  think  oxen 
better,  on  the  whole,  for  farm-work,  than  horses  ? 
You  know,  I  suppose,  the  argument,  —  horses  are 
quicker,  and  a  little  more  "  handy.''  Oxen  are  more 
patient,  stronger,  less  expensive  in  their  keeping,  and, 
when  they  have  performed  several  seasons'  faithful 
work,  they  will,  as  disobliging  horses  will  not,  change 
into  good  beef.  Now  I  seriously  wish  your  advice  as 
to  which  I  had  better  have.  For  /  have  just  bought 
a  pair  of  oxen,  and  am,  like  most  men,  now  ready 
to  ask  advice  under  circumstances  which  make  it 
impossible  for  me  to  take  it,  unless  it  accords  with 
a  foregone  fact.  I  shall,  therefore,  expect  you  to 
say  that  oxen  by  all  means  are  to  be  preferred  on 
the  farm.  I  hope,  also,  that  you  will  be  of  opinion 
that  they  ought  to  be  about  four  years  old,  of  a  white 
color,  except  the  head  and  neck,  which  should  be 


222  EYES  AND  EARS. 

roan  ;  and  that  they  should  by  all  means  be  Durham 
grade  stock,  say  three-quarter  blood,  and  that  it 
would  be  better  to  buy  them  in  Jefferson  County,  say 
in  the  town  of  Adams.  For,  if  you  advise  all  these 
things,  then  you  will  be  pleased  to  learn  that  such 
are  the  facts. 

Of  course,  you  will  now  imagine  your  worthy  cor 
respondent,  with  a  long  whip,  bawling  at  every  other 
step,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  whenever  he  wishes  the 
least  thing  done,  for  that  is  the  common  practice. 
You  will  expect  every  order  to  be  given  in  such  a 
way,  that  not  one  man  in  a  hundred  could  tell  what 
is  meant,  let  alone  poor  dumb  brute  beasts.  For  not 
a  great  way  off  I  hear  men  now  driving  oxen.  When 
they  wish  anything  done,  they  give  three  separate 
orders,  two  of  which  always  contradict  each  other. 
If  they  are  to  start,  the  man  says,  "  Whoa,  gee,  go- 
long!"  or,  "  Whoa,  back,  haw!"  And  generally 
every  order  is  given  with  a  smart  cut  of  the  whip. 
And  whenever  the  creatures,  a  little  perplexed  or 
vexed,  miss  the  command,  then  comes  a  roar  of  pas 
sionate  ox-invective,  accompanied  with  four  or  five 
whacks,  together  with  some  pokes  and  slashes ;  and, 
unless  the  driver  belongs  to  the  church,  he  almost 
always  curses  a  little,  and,  in  extreme  cases,  once  in 
half  an  hour  say,  sends  the  whole  team  to  —  a  place 
where  good  oxen  never  go,  and  bad  men  do.  Now 
would  it  not  do  you  good  to  see  your  virtuous  and 
excellent  correspondent,  very  red  in  the  face,  and 
laying  it  on  to  his  cattle  because  they  did  not  un 
derstand  his  absurd  orders,  or  because  he  had  lost 
his  own  temper? 

But  all  this  is  not  to  happen,  even  if  you  advise  it. 


ASKING  ADVICE,   AND   OXEN.  223 

For  my  oxen  are  sensible,  well-bred,  and  used  to  the 
gentlest  treatment.  They  have  always  been  spoken 
to  softly  ;  told  gently  just  the  thing  that  you  wished 
them  to  do,  and  never  struck.  They  drive  out  of 
the  yoke  just  as  well  as  in  it.  They  stand  or  go  at 
a  word.  They  step  quick  and  work  as  fast  as  a  pair 
of  heavy  horses  would  do. 

I  have  heard  my  father  say  that  it  was  the  oxen 
that  sent  him  to  college.  He  did  not  know  at  the 
time  what  it  was  that  made  farming  so  utterly  un 
endurable  to  him.  He  was  quick,  nervous,  restless  ; 
and  to  walk  by  the  dull  sides  of  slow-treading  oxen 
all  day  long  was  a  task  beyond  all  endurance.  He 
was  determined  not  to  be  a  farmer.  His  uncle,  who 
brought  him  up,  came  to  the  same  result  by  another 
way.  For  the  boy  could  never  be  tamed  so  that,  at 
sight  of  a  squirrel,  he  would  not  leave  cart,  plough, 
or  team,  wherever  they  happened  to  be,  and  take  after 
the  bushy-tailed  temptation,  —  down  the  rail-fence 
across  the  road,  and  into  the  stone-fence,  when  the 
squirrel,  with  a  victorious  churk  !  and  a  whisk  of  the 
tail,  disappeared.  Moreover,  the  lad  had  a  marvel 
lous  gift  of  taking  things  out  of  their  places,  and 
never  putting  them  back  again  (a  trait  which  ought 
not  to  have  been  hereditary),  and  so,  one  morning, 
when  the  old  gentleman  went  out  early  to  the  barn 
to  fodder  the  cattle,  and  saw  the  saddle  lying  in  the 
middle  of  the  yard,  bottom  side  up,  and  the  bridle 
on  the  ground  in  another  place,  he  was  convicted  on 
the  instant,  that  "  Lyman  would  never  be  fit  for  any 
thing  but  to  go  to  college." 

It  is  partly  with  the  hope  of  the  same  results  in  my 
own  family,  that  I  have  concluded  on  oxen  instead  of 


224  EYES  AND  EARS. 

horses.  I  have  tried  all  sorts  of  teachers,  but  they 
always  know  too  much  and  the  boys  too  little.  I 
mean  to  try  a  quarter's  tuition  under  the  judicious 
management  of  the  new  oxen,  and  after  about  six 
months,  depend  upon  it,  there  will  be  work  for  Am- 
herst  or  Yale.  Driving  horses  does  not  seem  to  tame 
young  bloods.  If  the  horses  are  fast,  the  boys  are 
faster.  But  try  ox-cure.  I  never  have  learned  an 
instance  of  a  young  man  led  into  bad  company  by 
oxen.  No  sprees  in  winter,  no  frolics  in  summer, 
no  racing,  no  wildness,  is  apt  to  follow  the  habit  of 
driving  oxen ! 

And  now,  my  dear  sir,  will  you  not  come  up  and 
see  my  new  turn-out  ?  I  invite  you,  and  the  most 
enterprising  publisher  of  a  recent  volume  on  farming, 
to  come  up  and  take  a  ride  in  my  cart.  The  crea 
tures  are  good,  too,  for  single  work,  and  a  little  prac 
tice,  I  am  sure,  will  make  them  patient  of  the  saddle, 
and  then,  what  is  to  hinder  our  taking,  some  soft 
and  gentle  evening,  a  good,  sensible,  leisurely  ride 
on  ox-back  along  the  shady  roads  ?  Besides,  if  either 
of  us  should  ever  make  up  our  minds  to  go  on  a 
Foreign  Mission,  we  should,  if  sent  to  South  Africa, 
be  already  in  the  way  of  the  riding  generally  prac 
tised  there. 


THE    OFFICE    OF   ART.  225 


THE    OFFICE    OF    ART. 

OME  incidental  remarks,  in  a  recent  number, 
have  called  forth  the  following  letter  from  a 
well-known  artist,  one  of  whose  pictures,  the 
sleepy  head  of  a  cud-chewing  cow,  hangs 
before  us  at  every  meal. 

"August  25,  1859. 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  In  the  < Thoughts  as  they  Occur'  of  the  last 
number  of  your  valuable  paper  stands  a  paragraph  not  fully 
explained,  I  take  it,  by  the  author,  and  therefore  liable  to  mis 
construction.  It  runs  thus  :  — 

"'Artists  must  not  demand  that  people  shall  take  what 
artists  like,  unless  artists  are  first  willing  to  paint  what  the 
people  like.' 

"  The  author  admits  that  '  it  is  the  artist's  business  to  edu 
cate  the  community.'  As  the  community,  then,  has  an  inter 
est  in  this  question  of  Art,  the  community  ought,  as  an  intelli 
gent  pupil,  to  understand  its  true  position.  The  artist  also, 
as  a  modest  and  intelligent  teacher,  ought  to  understand  his 
own.' 

"  Most  true  it  is  that  the  artist  has  to  '  paint  what  the  people 
like,'  but  only  because  he  must  live  and  satisfy  necessities,  not 
from  an  acknowledgment  of  the  right  in  the  people  to  dictate 
to  him.  He  is  the  public  servant  in  no  other  sense  than  is 
the  poet,  the  man  of  science,  the  minister  of  the  Gospel.  If 
Art  is  something  more  than  imitation  ;  if  it  is  even  more  than 
mere  intellectual  production  ;  if  it  is  a  child  of  the  affections, 
an  emanation  of  the  moral  part  of  the  man,  modulated  by  his 
intellect,  then  it  is  as  sacred  and  inviolate  as  his  religion,  and 
cannot  be  prescribed. 

"  Moreover,  if  the  artist,  like  the  poet,  is  a  teacher  of  some 
thing,  he  must  LEAD,  not  FOLLOW.  He  wisely  adapts  the  les- 
10*  »  o 


226  EYES   AND   EARS. 

sons  to  the  mind  and  capacity  of  his  pupils,  and  thus  far  he 
may  consult  them. 

"  In  the  noblest  degree  the  artist  rises  to  be  a  prophet. 

"  Who  is  it  that  shows  him  the  vision  ?  Is  it  the  people  ? 
Inspiration  is  of  Divine  source,  and  the  man  who  receives  it 
is  commissioned  by  God,  though  for  proclaiming  this  message 
the  world  should  let  him  starve.  He  may,  like  St.  Paul, 
labor  with  his  hands  to  supply  his  own  wants,  but  this  *  tent- 
making  '  for  a  living,  and  the  preaching  of  his  heavenly  mes 
sage,  will  ever  remain  distinctly  separated  concerns,  in  no  wise 
to  be  confounded. 

"AN  ARTIST." 

We  regard  Art,  in  its  higher  offices,  as  a  LANGUAGE. 
And  as  a  poet,  an  orator,  or  a  writer  employs  words 
and  sentences  to  convey  thoughts  and  feelings,  so  the 
artist  employs  forms,  colors,  and  symmetries  to  convey 
some  sentiment  or  truth.  Many  pleasing  pictures 
there  are  without  much  meaning  in  them,  —  pleasing, 
because  there  is  a  pleasure  in  mere  color  and  in  form 
for  their  own  sakes ;  just  as  there  is  a  charm  in  fine 
language,  almost  without  regard  to  the  thought  con 
veyed.  But  such  in  literature,  and  such  pictures  in 
Art,  are  passing,  trifles.  A  book  that  is  to  live  with 
you,  to  be  a  companion,  an  instructor,  must  have 
something  better  than  polished  words  or  well-wrought 
sentences.  It  must  have  thoughts  and  sentiments 
that  touch  the  head  and  the  heart.  Then  a  book 
becomes  a  silent  power  more  and  more  influential. 
In  like  manner  a  picture,  if  it  is  to  live  with  you,  to 
ingratiate  itself  with  you,  to  become  necessary  to  you, 
must  have,  not  only  color  and  form,  but  something 
under  them.  Something  there  must  be  that  shall 
touch  the  secret  chords  of  feeling.  An  artist  who 


THE   OFFICE   OF  ART.  227 

only  imitates  what  he  paints  is  like  an  imitator  in 
oratory  or  in  poetry.  He  must  have  some  thought 
or  some  feeling,  which  he  wishes  to  express,  and  his 
picture  is  first  to  be  judged  by  the  sentiment  which 
it  contains,  and  then  by  the  color-mode  and  the  form- 
mode  of  expression. 

Now  every  artist,  like  every  other  thinker,  has  the 
most  perfect  right  to  think  for  himself,  and  express 
his  thoughts  as  he  pleases.  He  may  select  his  sub 
jects  when  he  pleases,  and  in  the  manner  of  any 
school.  No  one  can  find  any  fault  with  him,  until 
he  turns  around  to  the  public  and  says :  "  You  don't 
buy  my  pictures !  You  don't  like  them !  But  you 
ought  to  like  them !  If  you  are  not  educated  up  to 
them,  you  should  be."  The  greater  part  of  society 
will  simply  laugh,  and  let  the  poor  artist  starve.  But 
would  not  the  same  be  true  of  every  preacher,  if, 
instead  of  applying  moral  truth  to  the  ideas  and 
manners  of  the  age  in  which  he  lives,  he  should  dig 
up  the  controversies  of  Origen,  and  feed  his  people 
on  the  topics  which  were  fresh  a  thousand  years  ago, 
but  are  now  dry  as  those  thousand-year-old  mum 
mies  in  their  silent  grinning  rows  in  Egypt  ?  What 
if  a  lecturer  should  give  to  the  audience  an  able  and 
learned  account  of  things  once  good  and  vital,  but 
which  long  since  went  to  seed  ?  Ought  he  to  turn 
and  say  to  the  community,  "  You  don't  like  me,  be 
cause  you  are  not  educated  enough  "  ?  Of  course. 
If  a  man  preaches  Latin,  and  writes  Greek,  the  rea 
son  why  the  community  will  not  care  for  his  prelec 
tions  is,  that  they  do  not  know  enough.  If  he  will 
be  heard,  he  must  speak  to  the  people  in  their  own 
language.  This  is  the  sum  of  what  we  say  about 


228  EYES   AND   EARS. 

Art.  If  it  will  please,  it  must  address  itself,  not  to 
an  imaginary  taste,  but  to  a  real  sentiment,  in  the 
public.  Taste  changes  with  every  age,  but  the  origi 
nal  feelings  of  the  human  soul  roll  on  from  age  to 
age  the  same,  unchanged  and  unchangeable.  And 
a  picture  which  addresses  itself  plainly  and  strongly 
to  any  of  the  heart's  feelings  will  always  have  admir 
ers.  While  we  write,  there  hangs  before  us  a  fine 
engraving  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  Madonna  (La 
Vierge  au  Bas-Relief).  When  this  was  painted  all 
men  believed  in  the  Virgin  Mary,  according  to  the 
reverential  and  half-divine  estimate  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church.  That  belief  has  waned  and  gone 
out.  And  yet,  in  Protestant  America,  the  picture, 
if  less  reverenced,  would  be  as  much  loved  as  at  the 
day  and  in  the  land  where  it  was  painted.  For  it 
is  still  a  Mother  with  Children.  As  long  as  the 
world  endures,  a  picture  that  fitly  handles  that  sub 
ject  will  live  in  love  that  time  cannot  aba^.  As  the 
"  Mother  of  God  "  it  was  not  so  powerful  as  now  it 
is  simply  as  a  Mother  of  Men. 

And,  in  like  manner,  a  picture  that  touches  any 
affection  or  moral  sentiment,  will  speak  in  a  language 
which  men  understand,  without  any  other  education 
than  that  of  being  born  and  of  living.  If  artists 
choose  to  paint  scholastic  pictures,  they  must  not 
grumble  if  only  scholars  care  for  them.  If  they  will 
paint  classical  pictures,  they  must  go  to  a  market 
where  men  want  such  wares.  If  they  will  paint  my 
thologies,  or  court  subjects,  or  any  other  subjects, 
that  are  beyond  or  above  the  people,  they  must  not 
expect  a  market  for  them  among  the  people. 

We  protest  against  the  arrogance  of  those  who  say, 


THE    OFFICE    OF   AET.  229 

or  think,  that  an  artist  condescends  when  he  repre 
sents  by  his  art  the  subjects  which  belong  to  the  life 
of  the  masses.  The  life  of  the  common  people  is  the 
best  part  of  the  world's  life.  It  will  ennoble  any  man 
who  reverently  expresses  those  thoughts  and  feelings 
on  which  the  race  stands.  This  contempt  for  the 
common  people  is  the  worst  fruit  of  debauched  pride. 
Not  their  ignorance,  their  tastes,  their  deeds,  their 
knowledge,  their  refinements,  are  always  to  be  es 
teemed.  But  the  loves,  the  hopes,  the  joys,  the 
friendships,  the  aspirations,  the  sorrows,  of  the  great 
human  family  are  always  to  be  revered.  Art  digni 
fies  itself  when  it  embodies  them.  No  man  is  fit  to 
be  an  artist  of  men  who  does  not  profoundly  feel 
how  sublime  common  human  heart-life  is  beyond 
his  own  art.  And  he  only  will  be  a  true  master 
whose  education  or  disposition  leads  him  to  love  the 
things  which  the  race  loves,  and  to  paint  them,  not 
in  condescension,  not  for  the  sake  of  a  market,  but 
because  in  his  soul  he  feels  that  the  life  of  the  com 
mon  people  is  the  life  of  God,  in  so  far  as  it  is 
revealed  in  any  age. 


230  EYES   AND   EARS. 


FREE    TOWN    LIBRARIES. 


HE  establishment  of  free  town  libraries  has 
not  received  the  attention  which  its  impor 
tance  deserves.  The  first  free  town  library, 
we  believe,  ever  established,  was  at  New 
Bedford,  Mass.  We  do  not  know  upon  what  histori 
cal  authority  the  statement  rests ;  but  we  derived  it 
from  a  gentleman  connected  with  that  library,  whose 
intelligence  and  caution  lead  us  to  think  that  he  could 
not  be  in  error.  If  the  facts  are  so,  our  country  is 
honored  in  beginning  so  admirable  an  institution. 

Libraries  of  every  kind  are  multiplying  with  unex 
ampled  rapidity.  The  private  libraries  of  New  York 
will,  for  number,  for  the  range  of  works,  their  great 
intrinsic  value,  their  rarity,  and  costliness,  astonish  all 
who  have  not  directed  their  attention  to  the  subject. 
A  series  of  papers  last  year  appeared  in  the  Evening 
Post,  giving  accounts  of  many  of  these  noble  monu 
ments  of  private  enterprise. 

The  libraries  of  colleges,  of  the  various  professions, 
law,  medicine,  <fec.,  of  literary  societies  and  mechani 
cal  institutions,  together  with  the  state  and  national 
libraries,  increase  the  growing  supply  of  books  for  the 
universal  reader.  But  all  these  do  little  or  nothing 
for  the  smaller  towns  and  the  country  proper.  There 
is  needed  a  class  of  libraries  to  which  our  young  farm 
ers  and  our  country  mechanics  can  have  free  access. 
Much  as  books  are  cheapened,  a  library  is  yet  too  ex 
pensive  a  luxury  for  private  families,  whose  living  de 
pends  upon  their  daily  labor.  Besides,  in  thousands 


FREE   TOWN   LIBRARIES.  231 

of  instances,  even  if  the  money  were  possessed,  the  dis 
position  to  own  books  is  yet  to  be  created.  Now  if  in 
each  town,  and  in  thickly  settled  regions  and  smaller 
districts,  there  were  a  well-endowed  free  public  li 
brary,  those  who  hunger  for  books  could  be  fed,  and 
those  who  have  never  learned  to  love  such  food  might 
be  tempted,  all  the  more  easily  because  it  would  cost 
them  nothing. 

In  such  libraries  it  is  desirable  that  those  works 
should  be  stored  which  are  important  to  all  the  differ 
ent  branches  of  industry,  and  to  the  learned  profes 
sions,  and  such  more  expensive  collections  of  history, 
travel,  and  art,  as  are  not  usually  within  the  means  of 
private  purchasers.  It  is  a  great  folly  to  fill  up  a 
public  library  with  the  evanescent  trash  which  now  too 
often  encumbers  their  shelves.  Public  funds  should 
make  a  more  permanent  investment,  and  young  men 
and  women  should  find  here  works  not  otherwise 
within  their  reach. 

There  are  two  points  which  ought  specially  to  be 
considered.  First,  whether,  with  large  and  comforta 
ble  accommodation,  both  for  quiet  reading  and  for 
social  intercourse,  a  free  library  may  not  afford  a  safe 
rendezvous  for  the  young,  for  many  hours  that  would 
otherwise  be  employed  in  places  of  temptation.  And, 
second,  whether,  with  suitable  arrangements,  one  li 
brary  may  not  be  made  to  serve  both  men  and  women, 
avoiding  all  necessity  of  women's  libraries,  as  such. 
The  Boston  free  city  library  is  one  of  the  noblest  mon 
uments  erected  in  that  city  of  noble  institutions. 
And  there  rooms  are  provided  for  men  and  women 
alike,  where  they  may  quietly  meet,  read,  write,  or 
pursue  their  intelligent  investigations. 


232  EYES  AND  EARS. 

In  several  instances  within  our  knowledge,  these 
free  town  libraries  have  been  established  by  the  con 
tributions  of  public-spirited  citizens,  and  the  town  has 
afterwards  voted  an  annual  appropriation  to  maintain 
and  increase  the  same.  If  every  town  would  build  a 
large  town-house,  with  a  hall,  which,  while  it  served 
for  all  ordinary  meetings  of  citizens,  should  give  am 
ple  space  for  public  lectures  during  the  winter,  there 
might  be  established  in  it  the  alcoves  of  a  free  library. 
Then  every  town  would  have  an  institution  for  moral 
and  intellectual  culture,  of  incalculable  value.  Ten 
years  will  change  the  face  of  a  town  if  a  good  school, 
or  a  good  course  of  lectures,  or  a  good  free  library  be 
established  in  it. 

But  while  the  importance  of  free  town  libraries 
justifies  the  action  of  the  towns  themselves,  these  in 
stitutions  give  admirable  opportunity  for  rich  and 
benevolent  men  to  hand  down  to  posterity  their  names 
honorably  distinguished  in  connection  with  noble  in 
stitutions  which  they  shall  have  founded  and  endowed. 
Every  man  ought  to  be  his  own  executor  in  charitable 
gifts.  While  he  is  alive,  and  can  superintend  his  own 
work,  let  him  bestow  his  money.  After  his  death  his 
money  may  be  applied  to  the  purposes  which  he  con 
templated,  or  it  may  not.  But  if,  while  living,  he 
establishes  an  institution  for  the  diffusion  of  public 
intelligence,  his  work  will  be  better  done,  and  he  will 
in  part  reap  the  reward  of  his  liberality  in  the  grati 
tude  of  his  fellow-citizens. 


HONOR   YOUR  BUSINESS.  233 


HONOR    YOUR   BUSINESS. 


P  is  a  good  sign  when  a  man  is  proud  of  his 
work,  or  his  calling.  Yet  nothing  is  more 
common  than  to  hear  men  finding  fault 
constantly  with  their  particular  business, 
and  deeming  themselves  unfortunate  because  fastened 
to  it  by  the  necessity  of  gaining  a  livelihood.  In 
this  spirit  men  fret,  and  laboriously  destroy  all  their 
comfort  in  work.  Or  they  change  their  business,  and 
go  on  miserably  shifting  from  one  thing  to  another, 
till  the  grave  or  the  poorhouse  gives  them  a  perma 
nent  situation. 

But  while,  occasionally,  a  man  fails  in  life  because 
he  is  not  in  the  place  fitted  for  his  peculiar  talent,  it 
happens  ten  times  oftener  that  results  from  neglect 
and  even  contempt  of  an  honest  business.  A  man 
should  put  his  heart  into  everything  that  he  does. 
There  is  not  a  profession  in  the  world  that  has  not  its 
peculiar  cares  and  vexations.  No  man  will  escape 
annoyance  by  changing  business.  No  mechanical 
business  is  altogether  agreeable.  Commerce,  in  its 
endless  varieties,  is  affected,  like  all  other  human  pur 
suits,  with  trials,  unwelcome  duties,  and  spirit-tiring 
necessities.  It  is  the  very  wantonness  of  folly  for  a 
man  to  search  out  the  frets  and  burdens  of  his  calling 
and  give  his  mind  every  day  to  a  consideration  of 
them.  They  belong  to  human  life.  They  are  inevita 
ble.  Brooding,  then,  only  gives  them  strength. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  man  has  a  power  given  him 
to  shed  beauty  and  pleasure  upon  the  homeliest  toil, 


234  EYES   AND  EARS. 

if  he  is  wise.  Let  a  man  adopt  his  business,  and 
indentify  it  with  his  life,  and  cover  it  with  pleasant 
associations.  For  God  has  given  us  imagination,  not 
alone  to  make  some  men  poets,  but  to  enable  all  men 
to  beautify  homely  things.  Heart-varnish  will  cover 
up  innumerable  evils  and  defects.  Look  at  the  good 
things.  Accept  your  lot  as  a  man  does  a  piece  of 
rugged  ground,  and  begin  to  get  out  the  rocks  and 
roots,  to  deepen  and  mellow  the  soil,  to  enrich  and 
plant  it.  There  is  something  in  the  most  forbidding 
avocation  around  which  a  man  may  twine  pleasant 
fancies,  out  of  which  he  may  develop  an  honest 
pride. 

We  met,  not  long  since,  a  fine  specimen  of  just 
the  thing  we  mean. 

He  began  life  a  blacksmith.  "I  never  wanted  to 
be  anything  else  than  a  mechanic,"  said  he.  He 
determined  to  make  himself  respectable  and  honor 
able,  not  in  spite  of  his  business,  but  by  means  of  it. 
He  entered  with  heart  and  soul  and  ambition  into  it. 
Little  by  little  he  improved  it.  Selecting  a  single  line 
of  articles,  he  began  manufacturing  them.  "  When  I 
first  entered  the  market,"  said  he,  "  I  found  every 
body  trying  to^  sell  cheaper  than  his  neighbor,  and  so 
making  poorer  and  poorer  articles,  and  running  down 
the  trade.  I  determined  that  I  would  not  undersell, 
but  excel" 

In  this  spirit  he  entered  heartily  into  his  work, 
was  proud  of  it,  nursed  and  nourished  it,  and  now 
he  is,  in  his  own  department,  almost  without  a  com 
petitor  in  the  market.  He  has  gathered  riches,  which 
he  employs  "benevolently,  and  is  respected  and  hon 
ored  by  all  his  townsmen.  The  good  which  this  hon- 


HONOR   YOUR   BUSINESS.  235 

est  mechanic  has  done  will  not  stop  with  himself. 
He  will  have  made  his  business  honorable  to  others. 
A  man  can  impart  to  a  business  a  flavor  of  honor 
by  his  own  conduct,  which  shall  make  it  thereafter 
more  creditable  to  any  one  who  enters  it.  Franklin 
left  upon  the  printing-office  an  impress  which  has 
benefited  the  profession  of  printers  ever  since.  Black 
smiths  love  to  speak  of  the  yet  uncanonized  St.  Elihu 
Burritt. 

Mr.  Dowse,  by  tanning  and  currying,  amassed  a 
fortune,  and  bequeathed  it,  and  its  literary  products, 
to  the  public  in  Boston  and  Cambridge  ;  and  we  ven 
ture  to  say  that,  hereafter,  that  business  will  be  easier 
and  more  encouraging  to  every  lad  that  is  bound 
apprentice  to  the  nasty  trade.  Once  let  a  man  con 
vert  his  business  into  an  instrument  of  honor,  benevo 
lence,  and  patriotism,  and  from  that  moment  it  is 
transfigured,  and  men  judge  its  dignity  and  merit, 
not  by  what  it  externally  is,  but  by  what  it  has  done, 
and  can  do.  It  is  better  to  stick  to  your  business, 
and,  by  patient  industry  and  honorable  enterprise, 
crown  it  with  honor,  than  to  run  away  from  it,  and 
seek  prosperity  ready-made  to  your  hand.  It  is  not 
what  a  man  finds  that  does  him  good,  but  what  he 
does. 


236  EYES  AND   EARS. 


MOTHS,    WINGED    AND    LEGGED. 


Y  DEAR  MR.  BONNER  :  As  you  are  a  business 
man,  having  always  more  to  do  than  you 
can  perform,  I  hope  that  you  will  sympa 
thize  with  me  in  my  abhorrence  of  moths. 
I  do  not  mean  those  beautiful  winged  fools  that,  in 
attempting,  on  summer  nights,  to  put  out  our  candles, 
only  succeed  in  putting  themselves  out;  nor  those 
moths  which  use  for  food  what  we  employ  for  a  cover 
ing,  who  look  upon  an  overcoat  as  we  do  upon  roast 
beef,  upon  our  furs  as  we  do  on  chickens  and  wild 
game.  It  always  seemed  to  me  that,  howeyer  mis 
chievous  to  us  was  a  moth's  appetite,  it  must  be  a 
very  dry  and  melancholy  thing  to  him,  to  eat  dry 
cloth,  with  nothing  to  drink,  growing  fat  upon  rub 
bish,  and  washing  it  down  with  darkness.  I  would 
not  have  you  think  that  I  am  any  more  amiable  than 
other  people,  when  either  of  these  moths  assail  my 
peace.  I  am  nervous  enough  not  to  resist  the  sud 
den  flap  of  a  great  winged  miller  in  my  candle  as  I 
am  quietly  reading,  and  his  off-bouncing  into  my  face, 
and  fluttering  over  and  around  it  with  the  most  lively 
familiarity.  Nor  do  I  like  in  autumn  to  find  my  best 
coat  eaten  in  holes  all  over,  and  my  pantaloons  look 
ing  as  if  I  had  been  shot  while  running  away  from  an 
enemy.  Yet  a  little  philosophy  will  teach  us  patience 
in  such  things,  especially  in  contrast  with  the  annoy 
ances  of  other  moths. 

First,  are  those  that  anoint  you  with  praise.      It 
might  have  felt  good  to  old  kings  to  be  anointed.     We 


MOTHS,   WINGED   AND   LEGGED.  237 

have  never  thought  that  a  flask  of  oil  poured  on  our 
head  would  inspire  a  sense  of  dignity  as  it  went 
smoothly  down  the  skin,  dripping  from  the.  beard,  and 
streaking  the  dress.  But  even  though  the  oil  were 
rancid,  we  think  the  operation  more  bearable  than  to 
be  daubed  with  flattery.  A  friend  who  lives  near 
your  heart  has  a  right  to  speak  to  you  of  that  in  you 
which  excites  his  love.  But  a  casual  acquaintance,  a 
stranger,  a  chance  companion,  have  no  right  to  insult 
you  by  supposing  that  you  love  flattery.  This  vice, 
which  is  inexcusable  among  ignorant  and  half-bred 
men,  is  utterly  unpardonable  among  literary  persons, 
who,  as  soon  as  you  are  first  made  known  to  them, 
begin  to  recall  to  you  what  they  have  read  of  your 
writing,  or  what  you  have  done,  or,  if  they  can  remem 
ber  nothing  of  that,  assume  a  complimentary  reserve, 
and  intimate  the  great  delight  which  they  have  taken 
in  your  achievements.  Is  there  no  camphor,  no 
ground  pepper,  no  yellow  snuff,  for  these  moths  ? 

Then  comes  the  neighbor  who  has  nothing  to  do, 
and  means  that  nobody  else  shall  do  anything,  who 
gets  into  your  house,  you  hardly  know  how,  and  gets 
out  you  hardly  can  tell  when,  but  drones  and  fatigues 
your  ear  with  all  the  miserable  tattle  of  the  neighbor 
hood.  Would  it  be  wawslaughter  to  kill  a  fool? 
Ought  not  the  law  to  give  a  man  some  discretionary 
power  over  the  life  of  these  mosquitos  and  gnats, 
that  have,  by  some  strange  freak  of  nature,  grown  into 
the  shape  of  men,  without  losing  the  propensities  of 
insects  ? 

Next,  are  men  that  never  know  when  they  have  got 
through  their  business.  They  see  by  your  look  and 
attitude  that  they  have  caught  you  just  at  a  moment 


238  EYES  AND   EARS. 

of  inspiration.  Your  fine  thoughts  are  evaporating 
as  they  stand  fuming  about  some  errand  that  no  more 
concerns  you  than  do  the  domestic  wants  of  a  polar 
bear.  Indeed,  you  feel  not  altogether  unlike  that 
savage  animal.  You  answer  emphatically,  abruptly, 
perpendicularly ;  but  there  he  is.  No  is  no  answer. 
You  renew  the  answer,  and  fire  into  him  with  deadly 
aim,  and  he  stirs  no  more  than  if  he  were  a  target, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  stand  and  be  shot  at.  One  sweet 
fancy  is  gone  already.  The  fine  pulse  of  imagination 
is  changing  in  you  to  the  throb  of  vexation ;  and 
when,  at  last,  you  have  got  rid  of  the  man,  you  have 
got  rid,  also,  of  your  ideas,  and  sit  down  to  your 
paper  very  much  as  a  whipped  schoolboy  does  who  has 
a  composition  to  write,  and  nothing  in  his  head  to 
write  it  with. 

There  is  a  kind  of  day-moth,  an  epistolary  moth, 
of  the  same  kind,  who  writes  you  a  letter  of  business, 
or  request,  and  begins  it  with  excuses,  and  long- 
drawn  apologies,  or  well-rounded  complimentary  rea 
sons.  You  have  to  get  into  the  letter,  very  much  as 
a  boy  does  into  a  blackberry  patch.  And  the  single, 
solitary  berry  hangs  in  the  middle  of  a  quickset 
hedge,  and  is  not  ripe  when  you  get  it,  but  sour  and 
red.  A  man  should  deliver  his  letter  as  a  sportsman 
does  his  shot.  Let  him  glance  at  his  errand  like  a 
rising  woodcock,  pull  the  trigger  instantly,  and  bring 
him  down  without  more  ado. 

There:  I  have  expressed  my  mind,  and  feel  better. 
After  all,  is  it  not  wonderful  that  men  do  so  well  as 
they  do  ?  Consider  how  many  men  you  daily  meet, 
most  of  them  with  pleasure,  and  few  of  them  with 
real  annoyance.  Common  sense,  at  least  in  its  lower 


BOSTON   REMINISCENCES.  239 

forms,  is  more  common  than  we  are  apt  to  think. 
And,  on  the  whole,  you  need  not  do  anything  about 
these  moths.  Perhaps  half  of  my  impatience  in  such 
things  is  conceit.  Am  I  too  good  to  bear  my  part  of 
life's  vexations  ?  Why  should  I  not  be  annoyed  as 
well  as  other  people  ?  How  can  a  man  be  gracious, 
gentle,  condescending,  unless  there  is  some  occasion 
which  requires  such  virtues  ? 

Now  that  I  think  about  it,  is  there  not  something 
said  about  patience  in  Holy  Writ  ?  Let  me  see.  I  '11 
search.  Ah,  here  it  is,  in  1  Thessalonians  v.  14 : 
"  Now  we  exhort  you,  brethren,  warn  them  that 
are  unruly,  comfort  the  feeble-minded,  support  the 
weak,  be  patient  toward  all  men"  On  the  whole, 
Mr.  Bonner,  if  you  have  any  impertinent,  disagreea 
ble,  patience-trying  people,  send  them  to  me. 


BOSTON    REMINISCENCES. 

N  the  opinion  of  unnumbered  men,  to  have 
been  born  in  Boston  must  be  reckoned 
among  the  great  gifts  of  fortune.  Next  to 
that  is  a  Boston  education ;  and  next  to 
that,  is  the  beginning  of  a  Boston  education.  In  this 
third  and  humble  estate  we  have  the  good  fortune  to 
stand ;  and  although  we  cannot  directly  trace  any 
part  of  the  good  fortune  of  our  life  directly  back  to 
this  as  a  cause,  it  may  yet  be  the  occult  and  subtile 
influence  which  has  breathed  upon  our  years  and 
spread  our  path  with  flowers. 


240  EYES   AND   EARS. 

However  that  may  be,  we  love,  always,  to  visit  this 
curious  old  city.  No  other  place  has  so  many  boy 
hood  associations.  A  green,  healthy,  country  lad, 
with  a  round,  full,  red-cheeked  face,  at  about  thir 
teen  years  of  age  we  entered  this  city  of  marvels. 
We  were  dazed  and  dazzled  with  its  sounds  and 
sights.  We  had  seen  no  larger  place  than  Hartford. 
What  was  that  to  Boston  !  How  fast  our  heart  beat, 
on  Sunday  morning,  to  hear  so  many  bells  clamoring 
together  and  filling  the  heavens  with  calls  to  worship. 
One  solitary  bell  had  we  been  used  to  hear;  one 
sweet  bell,  that  rolled  out  its  tones  for  a  mile  around 
and  more,  rising  and  falling  as  the  wind  blew  or 
lulled,  and  having  the  whole  air  to  itself,  to  make  its 
own  music  in.  This  jangle  and  sweet  dissonance  of 
Boston  bells  was  among  the  first  things  that  touched 
the  secret  spring  of  fancy,  and  sent  us  up  into  dreams 
and  imaginings.  But  the  marvel  wellnigh  became  a 
miracle.  We  had  been  told  by  some  one,  who  loved 
to  exercise  the  ears  of  right  simple  and  all-believing 
country-boys,  that  there  were  so  many  bells  in  Boston 
that,  when  they  rang  on  Sunday  mornings,  they  almost 
played  a  tune.  Judge  of  our  amazement  and  breath 
less  ardor  of  delight,  when,  on  the  very  first  Sabbath, 
we  heard  stealing  in,  in  regular  pulse  of  time,  amid 
all  the  clanging  and  jangling  that  filled  the  air,  the 
sweet  melody  of  Days  of  Absence  or  Greenville.  We 
could  not  believe  our  senses  !  Yet,  yes  !  It  was  even 
so.  Blessed  city  !  in  which  dwelt  so  divine  a  spirit  of 
harmony  that  some  airy  hand  governed  the  widely 
scattered  belfries,  and  taught  the  notes  which  each 
bell  carelessly  struck  to  come  together  in  time  and 
tune,  and  march  through  the  air  in  harmony !  Alas  ! 


BOSTON  REMINISCENCES.  241 

we  had  then  never  heard  of  chimes;  and  we  were 
painfully  disenchanted  when  the  Old  North  steeple 
was  shown  to  have  played  this  tune  all  of  itself;  and 
the  conviction  came  home,  that  every  church  preached 
and  rung  its  bell  "  on  its  own  hook." 

Next  to  Boston  bells  were  Boston  ships.  Here  first 
we  beheld  a  ship  !  We  shall  never  again  see  anything 
that  will  so  profoundly  affect  our  imagination.  We 
stood  and  gazed  upon  the  ship,  and  smelt  the  sea-air, 
and  looked  far  out  along  the  water  to  the  horizon,  and 
all  that  we  had  ever  read  of  buccaneers,  of  naval  bat 
tles,  of  fleets  of  merchantmen,  of  explorations  into 
strange  seas,  among  rare  and  curious  things,  rose  up 
in  a  cloud  of  mixed  and  changing  fancies,  until  we 
scarcely  knew  whether  we  were  in  the  body  or  out. 
How  many  hours  have  we  asked  and  wanted  no  better 
joy  than  to  sit  at  the  end  of  the  wharf,  or  on  the  deck 
of  some  newly-come  ship,  and  rock  and  ride  on  the 
stream  of  our  own  unconscious  imagination !  We 
went  to  school  to  Boston  harbor. 

Next  to  the  merchant  marine  was  the  navy-yard. 
We  stole  over  to  Charlestown  almost  every  week. 
With  what  awe  we  walked  past  the  long  rows  of 
unmounted  cannon !  With  what  exhilaration  we 
looked  forth  from  the  mounted  sea-battery  that  looked 
down  the  harbor,  and  just  waited  for  some  Britisher 
to  dare  to  come  in  sight !  We  have  torn  any  number 
of  ships  to  pieces  with  those  cannon,  with  imagination 
for  our  commodore  and  patriotism  for  our  cannoneer. 
There  have  been  great  battles  in  Boston  harbor  that 
nobody  knows  anything  about  but  ourself ! 

Then  with  what  jubilant  zeal  did  we  climb  all  over 
the  men-of-war  building  in  the  ship-houses,  over  the 
11  I* 


242  EYES   AND.  EARS. 

dismantled  ships  that  lay  at  the  pier-head  !  There  is 
no  gymnasium  like  a  good  ship  and  a  parcel  of  fear 
less  boys  of  robust  strength  in  full  chase  of  each 
other ! 

Wonderful  to  relate,  also,  would  be  the  land  engage 
ments  which  took  place  in  Boston.  There  were  the 
Fort-Hillers,  the  West-Enders,  the  South-Enders,  and, 
above  all,  the  Charlestown  Pig's.  What  patriotic 
North-Ender  did  not  resent  the  indignity  done  to  his 
side  of  the  city  by  anybody  that  dared  to  live  on  any 
other  side  ?  When  these  external  wars  covered  their 
glowing  coals  with  the  embers  of  a  protecting  peace, 
we  always  had  a  number  of  little  neighborhood  feuds 
which  served  to  keep  our  hand  in.  The  Prince  Street 
boys,  the  Copp's  Hill  boys,  the  Salem-Streeters,  the 
Sheafe  Street  heroes  (we  lived  there),  the  Bennett- 
Streeters,  and,  above  all,  the  Ann  Street  imps !  Well, 
whole  volumes  would  be  required  to  perpetuate  the 
fame  which  in  these  various  fields  will  perish  without 
a  record ! 

It  was  in  the  Public  Latin  School  of  Boston  that  we 
laid  the  foundation  of  that  classical  lore  that  must 
have  been,  methinks,  at  the  bottom  of  our  prosperity ! 
A  little  leaven  is  said  to  leaven  the  whole  lump ;  and 
the  same  may  be  true  of  Latin,  and  in  our  case  it  was 
very  little.  It  was  in  the  days  of  Benjamin  Gould 
that  we  made  rabbits  of  our  handkerchief,  bravely 
took  the  rattan  on  our  outstretched  palm,  and  studied 
the  grammar  with  a  continual  underthought  of  what 
we  would  do  as  soon  as  school  let  out ! 

But  we  are  obliged  to  stop.  If  all  the  memorable 
events  transpiring  under  the  names  of  "  One-lead-all," 
"  Coram,"  &c.,  <fec.,  were  to  be  written,  my  brief  chap- 


OBJECT   LESSONS.  243 

ter  would  become  a  whole  book.  The  very  streets 
where  our  life  figured  are  no  more.  The  canal  is 
dry,  and  carts  and  drays  pass  where  the  old  barges 
floated.  New  land,  and  whole  neighborhoods  have 
sprung  up  in  places  waste  and  void  in  our  Boston  boy 
hood.  Even  the  Latin  School  is  no  longer  to  be  seen 
in  School  Street.  But,  thank  fortune,  Dock  Square 
is  about  the  same,  —  as  old,  as  shapeless,  as  crowded, 
and  as  dirty.  But  we  must  take  another  time  to  say 
other  things  of  dear  old  Boston  ! 


OBJECT    LESSONS. 

]NE  would  almost  think  that  eyes  were  an 
arrangement  to  prevent  people  from  seeing. 
The  same  thought  passed  in  the  mind  of 
the  old  prophet  thousands  of  years  ago : 
Eyes  have  they,  but  they  see  not.  It  is  astonishing  to 
observe,  both  what  people  do  see  and  what  they  do 
not.  One  pair  of  eyes,  for  instance,  will  return  from 
a  crowded  church,  and  will  have  seen  (by  an  almost 
supernatural  faculty,  as  it  seems  to  us)  every  bonnet, 
every  ribbon,  every  dress,  every  significant  look,  every 
posture  or  action,  of  a  thousand  people.  Our  own 
eyes,  looking  upon  the  same  scene,  would  have  seen 
not  one  of  all  these  things ! 

One  pair  of  eyes  will  go  through  the  length  of 
Broadway,  and  see  only  those  who  seem  to  look  upon 
the  owner  of  said  eyes.  Another  pair  will  not  have 
seen  one  person  in  that  long  walk,  nor  have  missed 


244  EYES   AND   EARS. 

one  horse  that  walked,  trotted,  capered,  or  steadily 
pulled. 

One  man  will  see  all  the  children,  —  the  sweet,  rosy- 
faced,  clean  ones,  gladly ;  the  ragged  and  keen-faced 
ones,  sadly.  One  man  will  see  all  that  Art  can  ex 
hibit,  and  another  nothing  of  it  all.  One  man  sees 
machines,  and  all  mechanical  contrivances ;  another 
sees  only  dresses  and  showy  things.  Now  and  then 
there  is  a  rare  head,  whose  eyes  seem  to  take  in 
everything,  —  from  a  mouse  that  scuds  into  a  hole, 
up  through  all  varieties  of  still  or  active  life  to  the 
very  top.  And  some  there  be  who  seem  to  see  noth 
ing.  For  all  the  effect  produced  upon  them,  Broad 
way  is  as  empty  as  a  street  in  Tadmor.  Their  eyes 
seem  to  have  been  made  up  with  unprepared  nerve ; 
so  that,  like  a  daguerrean  plate  without  chemical 
coating,  nothing  acts  upon  it,  and  no  picture  is 
burnt  in. 

It  is  a  great  pity  that  we  are  not  taught,  in  our 
early  days,  how  to  see.  It  is  more  important  than 
reading  and  writing,  than  arithmetic  or  geography. 
In  a  world  of  boundless  treasures,  above,  beneath,  on 
every  side,  we  .walk  as  if  there  were  but  few  things 
worth  seeing.  And  even  these,  when  we  have  locked 
upon  them  once  or  twice,  we  exhaust,  and  suppose 
that  we  have  really  seen  them! 

A  man  shall  pass  and  repass  a  burdock  growing 
near  the  path  which  he  daily  treads  going  to  and  re 
turning  from  his  work.  He  would  laugh  if  he  were 
told  that  he  did  not  know  that  familiar  plant.  And 
yet,  in  making  it,  God  put  upon  it  and  within  it  a 
hundred  things  which  are  worth  observation,  but 
which  this  man  never  sees  or  suspects.  The  least 


OBJECT   LESSONS.  245 

things  that  come  from  God's  hands  are  so  full,  so 
compact  of  qualities,  that  they  will  bear  close  scru 
tiny  and  long  study.  And  we  think  that  the  chief 
advantage  to  be  derived  from  teaching  children  to 
draw  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  pictures  made,  but 
in  the  new  eyesight  gained.  This,  however,  implies 
that  they  are  taught  to  draw  directly  from  nature, 
and  not  from  copy-books.  Let  a  child  study  a  plant, 
in  order  to  draw  it,  and  he  will  find  out  more  about 
it  in  one  day  than  otherwise  he  would  in  a  lifetime. 
We  only  glance  at  things. 

We  overlook  more  than  we  sec  in  the  things  which 
we  see  most  thoroughly.  It  would  be  a  good  exer 
cise  for  winter  evenings  for  children,  to  have  placed 
before  them  a  rosebush  in  a  flower-pot,  and  then  let 
each  tell  what  he  sees,  and  keep  the  list ;  and  then 
let  older  eyes  do  the  same ;  and  then,  from  all  to 
gether,  make  out  a  more  complete  one ;  and  laying 
it  aside,  every  day  whenever  things  occfur  afterwards, 
let  them  be  put  down.  Thus,  the  bark,  its  color, 
texture,  changes  from  youth  to  age ;  the  branches, 
their  relative  positions ;  the  sub-divisions,  the  angles 
at  which  they  put  off;  the  leaves,  their  form ;  the 
edges,  their  texture,  color,  size,  number,  health,  thick 
ness  ;  the  difference  between  the  upper  and  lower 
surface,  etc.,  etc.  These  and  such  like  things  will 
soon  let  one  know  how  little  the  untrained  eye  sees, 
and  how  much  there  is  to  be  seen ! 

The  eye  is  susceptible  of  more  training  than  per 
haps  any  other  of  the  senses.  Fineness  of  sight, 
length  of  vision,  comprehensiveness,  or  the  number 
of  things  taken  in  at  once,  and  rapidity,  —  these  may 
be  so  far  developed,  that  the  educated  eye  is  as  far 


246  EYES  AND  EARS. 

above  the  uneducated  as  a  refined  and  cultivated 
mind  is  beyond  a  savage  one.  Houdin,  the  great 
French  necromancer,  relates  the  practice  of  himself 
and  son,  in  preparing  for  one  part  of  their  jugglery. 
They  trained  their  eyes  to  take  in  at  a  glance,  from 
a  shop-window,  from  a  store  full  of  varieties,  from 
the  face  of  books  in  a  library,  the  greatest  number 
of  things.  They  came  to  such  perfection,  that  in 
simply  walking  past  a  library-case  they  could,  after 
ward,  tell  you  nearly  every  book  on  its  shelves,  and 
its  relative  position.  Their  eyes  seemed  to  be  acted 
upon  in  a  manner  not  unlike  the  photographic  pro 
cess.  A  picture  was  instantly  formed.  And,  after 
ward,  it  rose  up  before  their  memories  as  if  the  origi 
nal  thing  stood  before  them.  Such  incidents  show 
how  little  use  is  yet  made  of  eyes,  how  litfle  we  sus 
pect  their  capabilities  of  education,  and  how  little 
we  know  of  the  world  we  live  in,  even  in  its  most 
familiar  aspecte. 


CHARACTER  AND  REPUTATION. 

HERE  are  few  who  do  not  know  the  dif 
ference  between   character   and   reputation, 
though  there   are  few  who  have  analyzed 
and  defined  their  own  ideas.     A  man's  real 
inward  habits  and  mental  condition  form  his  charac 
ter.     This  will  work  out  to  the  surface  -in  some  de 
gree,  and  in  some  persons  much  more  than  in  others. 
But  the  appearance  which  a  man  presents  to  the 


CHARACTER  AND  REPUTATION.         247 

world,  the  outward  exhibition,  gives  him  his  reputa 
tion.  A  man's  character  is  his  reality.  It  is  the 
acting  and  moving  force  of  his  being.  Reputation  is 
the  impression  which  he  has  made  upon  other  men ; 
it  is  their  thought  of  him.  Our  character  is  always 
in  ourselves,  but  our  reputation  is  in  others. 

It  is  true  that,  ordinarily,  among  honest  men,  the 
two  go  together.  A  man  who  lives  out  of  doors 
among  men,  and  who  gives  his  fellows  a  fair  chance  to 
see  his  conduct,  will  find  that  he  is  accurately  meas 
ured  and  correctly  judged. 

But  it  sometimes  happens  that  men  are  much  better 
than  they  have  credit  for  being,  and  as  often  men 
are  much  worse  than  they  appear  to  be  ;  i.  e.  men 
may  have  a  reputation  either  better  or  worse  than 
their  character.  Thus,  there  are  many  men  who  are 
reputed  to  be  hard,  severe,  stern,  who  at  heart  are 
full  of  all  kindness,  and  would  go  farther  and  fare 
harder  to  serve  a  friend  or  to  relieve  a  real  case  of 
trouble  than  anybody  else  around  them.  On  the  other 
hand,  some  people  are  thought  to  be  very  gentle,  very 
sweet  in  manners  ;  all  smiles,  promises,  and  politeness, 
but  at  heart  they  are  cold  and  selfish.  Character  is 
bad  and  reputation  good  in  such  cases. 

It  is  quite  easy  for  a  man  to  get  himself  a  reputa 
tion.  He  has  only  to  practise  upon  the  imagination 
and  credulity  of  the  public.  If  he  takes  pleasure  in 
being  thought  better  than  he  is,  if  he  chooses  to  live 
in  a  vain  show,  if  he  wears  a  mask,  and  his  life  is 
occupied  in  covering  up  his  real  feelings  by  feigned 
and  false  ones,  he  may  have  a  measure  of  success. 

But  the  same  amount  of  labor  and  care  which  gives 
him  but  a  flimsy  credit,  and  which  would  fall  before 


248  EYES   AND   EAKS. 

the  least  scrutiny  or  severity  of  test,  would  give  him 
a  substantial  reality.  He  labors  as  hard  for  a  sham 
as  would  suffice  to  give  him  a  truth. 

Indeed,  it  is  easier  to  build  a  character  than  to  sus 
tain  a  false  reputation.  Once  let  a  man's  habits  be 
laid,  and  solidly  laid,  in  truth,  honor,  and  virtue,  and 
the  more  the  man  is  tried,  the  more  he  profits  by  it. 
Such  men  are  revealed  to  the  world  by  misfortunes. 
The  troubles  which  threaten  them  only  end  in  letting 
people  know  how  strong  and  real  and  good  they  are. 

But  when  a  man  has  learned  to  live  upon  a  mere 
show,  practising  upon  others  with  decent  appearances, 
he  will  find  that  his  reputation,  good  in  fair  weather, 
will  be  good  for  nothing  in  storms  and  trials.  And 
then,  when  he  needs  most  sympathy  and  respect,  he 
will  have  the  least.  If  it  is  a  little  harder  to  build  up 
character  than  reputation,  it  is  only  so  in  the  begin 
ning.  For  reputation,  like  a  poorly-built  house,  will 
cost  as  much  for  patching  and  repairs  as  would  have 
made  it  thorough  at  first. 

Besides,  an  honorable  soul  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
credit  which  he  does  not  deserve.  One  hardly  knows 
how  to  interpret  a  nature  that  can  deliberately  take 
praises  for  things  which  he  knows  do  not  belong  to 
him.  This  is  particularly  true  of  young  men.  A 
man  may  grow  insincere  through  long  temptation  and 
the  corruption  of  life.  But  what  shall  we  think  of  a 
man  that  begins  life  on  a  lie  ?  who  deliberately  sets 
out  to  build  up  a  reputation  without  caring  for  his 
character  ? 


GOOD-NAT  UEE.  249 


GOOD-NATURE. 

F  there  be  one  thing  for  which  a  man  should 
be  more  grateful  than  another,  it  is  the  pos 
session  of  good-nature.  I  do  not  consider 
him  good-tempered  who  has  no  temper  at 
all.  A  man  ought  to  have  spirit,  strong,  earnest,  and 
capable  of  great  indignation.  We  like  to  hear  a  man 
thunder,  once  in  a  while,  if  it  is  genuine,  and  in  the 
right  way  for  a  right  man.  When  a  noble  fellow  is 
brought  into  contact  with  mean  and  little  ways,  and 
is  tempted  by  unscrupulous  natures  to  do  unworthy 
things ;  or  when  a  great  and  generous  heart  perceives 
the  wrong  done  by  lordly  strength  to  shrinking,  unpro 
tected  weakness ;  or  where  a  man  sees  the  foul  mis 
chiefs  that  sometimes  rise  and  cover  the  public  welfare 
like  a  thick  cloud  of  poisonous  vapors,  —  we  like  to 
hear  a  man  express  himself  with  outburst  and  glori 
ous  anger.  It  makes  us  feel  safer  to  know  that  there 
are  such  men.  We  respect  human  nature  all  the 
more,  to  know  that  it  is  capable  of  such  feelings. 

But  just  these  men  are  best  capable  of  good-nature. 
These  are  the  men  upon  whom  a  sweet  justice  in 
common  things,  and  a  forbearance  toward  men  in  all 
the  details  of  life,  and  a  placable,  patient,  and  cheer 
ful  mind  sit  with  peculiar  grace. 

Some  men  are  much  helped  to  do  this  by  a  kind  of 
bravery  born  with  them.  Some  men  are  good-natured 
because  they  are  benevolent,  and  always  feel  in  a 
sunny  mood  ;  some,  because  they  have  such  vigor  and 
robust  health  that  care  flies  off  from  them,  and  they 


250  EYES   AND   EARS. 

really  cannot  feel  nettled  and  worried  ;  some,  because 
a  sense  of  character  keeps  them  from  all  things  un 
becoming  manliness ;  and  some,  from  an  overflow  of 
what  may  be  called  in  part  animal  spirits,  and  in  part, 
also,  hopeful  and  cheerful  dispositions.  But  whatever 
be  the  cause  or  reason,  is  there  anything  else  that  so 
much  blesses  a  man  in  human  life  as  this  voluntary 
or  involuntary  good-nature?  Is  there  anything  else 
that  converts  all  things  so  much  into  enjoyment  to 
him  ?  And  then  what  a  glow  and  light  he  carries 
with  him  to  others  !  Some  men  come  upon  you  like 
a  cloud  passing  over  the  sun.  You  do  not  know  what 
ails  you,  but  you  feel  cold  and  chilly  while  they  are 
about,  and  need  an  extra  handful  of  coal  on  the  fire 
whenever  they  tarry  long.  Others  rise  upon  you  like 
daylight.  How  many  times  does  a  cheerful  and  hope 
ful  physician  cure  his  patients  by  what  he  carries  in 
his  heart  and  face,  more  than  by  what  he  has  in  his 
medical  case  !  How  often  does  the  coming  of  a  happy- 
hearted  friend  lift  you  up  out  of  deep  despondency, 
and,  before  you  are  aware,  inspire  you  with  hope  and 
cheer.  What  a  gift  it  is  to  make  all  men  better  and 
happier  without  knowing  it !  We  don't  suppose  that 
flowers  know  how  sweet  they  are.  We  have  watched 
them.  But  as  far  as  we  can  find  out  their  thoughts, 
flowers  are  just  as  modest  as  they  are  beautiful. 

These  roses  before  me,  salfataine,  lamarque,  and 
sanrano,  with  their  geranium  leaves  (rose)  and  car 
nations  and  abutilon,  have  made  me  happy  for  a  day. 
Yet  they  stand  huddled  together  in  my  pitcher  with 
out  seeming  to  know  my  thoughts  of  them,  or  the  gra 
cious  work  which  they  are  doing !  And  how  much 
more  is  it  to  have  a  disposition  that  carries  with  it, 


APPLE-PIE.  251 

involuntarily,  sweetness,  calmness,  courage,  hope,  and 
happiness,  to  all  who  are  such  ?  Yet  this  is  the  por 
tion  of  good-nature  in  a  real,  large-minded,  strong- 
natured  man !  When  it  has  made  him  happy  it  has 
scarcely  begun  its  office ! 

In  this  world,  where  there  is  so  much  real  sorrow, 
and  so  much  unnecessary  grief  of  fret  and  worry  ; 
where  burdens  are  so  heavy  and  the  way  so  long; 
where  men  stumble  in  rough  paths,  and  so  many 
push  them  down  rather  than  help  them  up ;  where 
tears  are  as  common  as  smiles,  and  hearts  ache  so 
easily,  but  are  poorly  fed  on  higher  joys,  how  grate 
ful  ought  we  to  be  that  God  sends  along,  here  and 
there,  a  natural  heart-singer,  —  a  man  whose  nature 
is  large  and  luminous,  and  who,  by  his  very  carriage 
and  spontaneous  actions,  calms,  cheers,  and  helps  his 
fellows.  God  bless  the  good-natured,  for  they  bless 
everybody  else ! 


APPLE-PIE. 


OW  often  people  use  language  without  the 
slightest  sense  of  its  deep,  interior  mean 
ing  !  Thus,  no  phrase  is  more  carelessly 
or  frequently  used  than  the  saying,  "  Apple- 
pie  order."  How  few  who  say  so  reflect  at  the  time 
upon  either  apple-pie  or  the  true  order  of  apple-pie ! 
Perhaps  they  have  been  reared  without  instruction. 
They  may  have  been  born  in  families  that  were  igno 
rant  of  apple-pie  ;  or  who  were  left  to  the  guilt  of 


2  5 '2  EYES  AND   EARS. 

calling  two  tough  pieces  of  half-cooked  dough,  with  a 
thin  streak  of  macerated  dried  apple  between  them, 
of  leather  color,  and  of  taste  and  texture  not  unbe 
coming  the  same,  —  an  apple-pie!  But  from  such 
profound  degradation  of  ideas  we  turn  away  with 
gratitude  and  humility,  that  one  so  unworthy  as  we 
should  have  been  reared  to  better  things. 

We  are  also  affected  with  a  sense  of  regret  for 
duty  unperformed  ;  for  great  as  have  been  the  benefits 
received,  we  have  never  yet  celebrated  as  we  ought 
the  merits  of  apple-pie.  That  reflection  shall  no 
longer  cast  its  shadow  upon  us, 

"  Henry,  go  down  cellar,  and  bring  me  up  some 
Spitzeubergs."  The  cellar  was  as  large  as  the  whole 
house,  and  the  house  was  broad  as  a  small  pyramid. 
The  north  side  was  windowless,  and  banked  up  out 
side  with  frost-defying  tan -bark.  The  south  side  had 
windows,  festooned  and  frescoed  with  the  webs  of  spi 
ders,  that  wove  their  tapestries  over  every  corner  in 
the  neighborhood,  and,  when  no  flies  were  to  be  had, 
ate  up  each  other,  as  if  they  were  nothing  but  politi 
cians,  instead  of  being  lawful  and  honorable  arachni- 
d(B.  On  the  east  side  stood  a  row  of  cider-barrels ;  for 
twelve  or  twenty  barrels  of  cider  were  a  fit  provision 
for  the  year,  —  and  what  was  not  consumed  for  drink 
was  expected  duly  to  turn  into  vinegar,  and  was  then 
exalted  to  certain  hogsheads  kept  for  the  purpose. 
But  along  the  middle  of  the  cellar  were  the  apple- 
bins  ;  and  when  the  season  had  been  propitious,  there 
were  stores  and  heaps  of  Russets,  Greenings,  Seek- 
nofurthers,  Pearmains,  Gilliflowers,  Spitzenbergs,  and 
many  besides,  nameless,  but  not  virtueless.  Thence 
selecting,  we  duly  brought  up  the  apples.  Some  peo- 


APPLE-PIE.  253 

pie  think  anything  will  do  for  pies.  But  the  best  for 
eating  are  the  best  for  cooking.  Who  would  make 
jelly  of  any  other  apple,  that  had  the  Porter?  who 
would  bake  or  roast  any  other  sweet  apple,  that  had 
the  Ladies'  Siveeting*,  —  unless,  perhaps,  the  Taiwan 
Sweet  ?  and  who  would  put  into  a  pie  any  apple  but 
Spitzenberg-j  that  had  that  ?  Off  with  their  jackets  ! 
Fill  the  great  wooden  bowl  with  the  sound  rogues ! 
And  now,  0  cook !  which  shall  it  be  ?  For  at  this 
point  the  roads  diverge,  and  though  they  all  come 
back  at  length  to  apple-pie,  it  is  not  a  matter  of  indif 
ference  which  you  choose.  There  is,  for  example, 
one  made  without  under-crust,  in  a  deep  plate,  and 
the  apples  laid  in,  in  full  quarters ;  or  the  apples 
being  stewed  are  beaten  to  a  mush,  and  seasoned,  and 
put  between  the  double  paste  ;  or  they  are  sliced  thin 
and  cooked  entirely  within  the  covers ;  or  they  are 
put  without  seasoning  into  their  bed,  and  when  baked, 
the  upper  lid  is  raised,  and  the  butter,  nutmeg,  cinna 
mon,  and  sugar  are  added  ;  the  whole  well  mixed, 
and  the  crust  returned  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

But  0  be  careful  of  the  paste  !  Let  it  not  be  like 
putty,  nor  rush  to  the  other  extreme,  and  make  it  so 
flaky  that  one  holds  his  breath  while  eating  for  fear  of 
blowing  it  all  away.  Let  it  not  be  plain  as  bread,  nor 
yet  rich  like  cake.  Aim  at  that  glorious  medium,  in 
which  it  is  tender,  without  being  fugaciously  flaky ; 
short,  without  being  too  short ;  a  mild,  sapid,  brittle 
thing,  that  lies  upon  the  tongue,  so  as  to  let  the  apple 
strike  through  and  touch  the  papillce  with  a  mere 
effluent  flavor.  But  this,  like  all  high  art,  must  be  a 
thing  of  inspiration  or  instinct.  A  true  cook  will 
understand  us,  and  we  care  not  if  others  do  not ! 


254  EYES   AND   EARS. 

Do  not  suppose  that  we  limit  the  apple-pie  to  the 
kinds  and  methods  enumerated.  Its  capacity  in  va 
riation  is  endless,  and  every  diversity  discovers  some 
new  charm  or  flavor.  It  will  accept  almost  every 
flavor  of  every  spice.  And  yet  nothing  is  so  fatal 
to  the  rare  and  higher  graces  of  apple-pie  as  incon 
siderate,  vulgar  spicing.  It  is  not  meant  to  be  a  mere 
vehicle  for  the  exhibition  of  these  spices,  in  their  own 
natures.  It  is  a  glorious  unity  in  which  sugar  gives 
up  its  nature  as  sugar,  and  butter  ceases  to  be  butter, 
and  each  flavorsome  spice  gladly  evanishes  from  its 
own  full  nature,  that  all  of  them,  by  a  common  death, 
may  rise  into  the  new  life  of  apple-pie !  Not  that 
apple  is  longer  apple  !  It,  too,  is  transformed.  And 
the  final  pie,  though  born  of  apple,  sugar,  butter, 
nutmeg,  cinnamon,  lemon,  is  like  none  of  these,  but 
the  compound  ideal  of  them  all,  refined,  purified, 
and  by  fire  fixed  in  blissful  perfection. 

But  all  exquisite  creations  are  short-lived.  The 
natural  term  of  an  apple-pie  is  but  twelve  hours.  It 
reaches  its  highest  state  about  one  hour  after  it  comes 
from  the  oven,  and  just  before  its  natural  heat  has 
quite  departed.  But  every  hour  afterward  is  a  de 
clension.  And  after  it  is  one  day  old,  it  is  thence 
forward  but  the  ghastly  corpse  of  apple-pie. 

But  while  it  is  yet  florescent,  white  or  creamy 
yellow,  with  the  merest  drip  of  candied  juice  along 
the  edges,  (as  if  the  flavor  were  so  good  to  itself  that 
its  own  lips  watered  !)  of  a  mild  and  modest  warmth, 
the  sugar  suggesting  jelly,  yet  not  jellied,  the  morsels 
of  apple  neither  dissolved  nor  yet  in  original  sub 
stance,  but  hanging  as  it  were  in  a  trance  between 
the  spirit  and  the  flesh  of  applehood,  then,  when 


STRAIGHTENING   THE   LINES.  255 

dinner  is  to  be  served  at  five  o'clock,  and  you  are 
pivotted  on  the  hour  of  one  with  a  ravening  appetite, 
let  the  good  dame  bring  forth  for  luncheon  an  apple- 
pie,  with  cheese  a  year  old,  crumbling  and  yet  moist, 
but  not  with  base  fluid,  but  oily  rather ;  then,  0 
blessed  man,  favored  by  all  the  divinities !  eat,  give 
thanks,  and  go  forth,  "  in  apple-pie  order  !  " 


STRAIGHTENING    THE    LINES. 

N  the  northeast  side  of  our  little  pet  farm 
there  was,  upon  survey,  found  to  be  a  jog, 
or  angle.  The  line  did  not  run  from  a 
given  point  straight  through,  but  turned 
abruptly  west,  and  then  at  right  angles  north.  As 
soon  as  the  plot  of  ground  was  mapped,  we  conceived 
a  dislike  to  that  corner.  It  looked  as  if  the  next  lot 
was  poking  its  horns  into  our  sides.  We  did  not 
fancy  such  an  intrusive  angle.  The  more  we  looked 
at  it,  the  less  we  liked  it.  How  to  straighten  our  line 
became  a  very  serious  problem.  To  do  it  by  cutting 
off  any  part  of  our  own  acres  was  not  to  be  thought 
of.  To  buy  more  land,  when  you  have  enough,  would 
be  even  worse.  But  who  that  owns  an  acre  can  resist 
the  temptation  of  another  acre  ?  Whether  we  bought 
or  sold  is  nothing  to  the  reader;  but  that  line  is 
straightened,  and  there  is  no  jog  in  our  east  line,  and 
the  map  looks  very  well,  and  we  have  not  lost  any 
ground.  And  we  have  a  little  more  room  for  our 
orchard ! 


256  EYES   AND  EARS. 

Did  anybody  ever  buy  a  farm  without  seeing  some 
reason  for  adding  a  little  more  to  it  ?  If  there  is  not 
a  jog  in  the  line,  is  there  not  one  in  the  man's  notions  ? 
The  front  is  too  narrow,  and  he  would  widen  it ;  or 
there  is  a  meadow  that  ought  to  belong  to  the  place  ; 
or  a  bit  of  woodland  is  just  the  thing  needed ;  or  a 
muck-swamp  would  be  so  good  for  its  contents ;  or 
the  stock  require  that  the  lot  with  that  ever-flowing 
brook  in  it  should  belong  to  the  farm ;  or  a  pasture- 
range  on  the  hill  would  be  so  good  for  the  dairy; 
or  that  swale  would  form  such  a  fine  carriage  ap 
proach  ;  or  the  bit  of  a  hill  to  the  east  has  the  very 
stone  that  you  need  for  walls  or  buildings;  or  you 
have  a  shanty  and  a  neighbor  whose  mind  is  too  free 
and  hands  too  loose  in  property-matters,  and  whom 
you  can  buy  away  easier  than  abate  as  a  nuisance ;  or 
you  want  a  little  more  garden,  a  little  more  orchard, 
a  little  more  mowing-land  or  lawn  or  ornamental 
forest  room,  or  you  wish  to  secure  a  particularly  fine 
prospect;  —  in  short,  you  want  a  little  more  land. 
There  is  a  mysterious  law  which  makes  twenty  acres 
much  less  perfect  than  twenty-five,  and  twenty-five 
has  a  powerful  attraction  for  thirty.  A  hundred  acres 
are  never  content  without  fifty  more.  Five  hundred 
acres  complain  for  want  of  company,  and  regard  them 
selves  as  lonesome  without  a  few  hundred  acres  more. 

There  are  undoubtedly  cases  in  which  large  farms 
are  better  than  small  ones.  But  there  are  twenty  men 
who  would  grow  rich  on  less  than  a  hundred  acres 
where  there  is  one  who  would  on  more  land. 

A  farm  is  only  another  name  for  a  chemical  labora 
tory.  It  is  only  another  way  of  manufacturing,  and 
many  men  can  carry  on  a  small,  compact  business, 


STRAIGHTENING   THE   LINES.  257 

which  their  eye  and  hand  can  cover,  who  have  no 
head  to  plan  a  complex  one,  and  no  skill  to  superin 
tend  its  execution. 

A  small  place  thoroughly  wrought  is  very  seldom 
seen.  There  are  very  few  acres  that  have  ever  shown 
what  they  can  do. 

There  is  one  way  in  which  men  may  increase  the 
amount  of  soil  with  the  utmost  advantage,  and  that  is 
vertically. 

A  man's  lease  runs  from  nadir  to  zenith.  A  man 
only  sees  the  surface  of  what  he  owns.  There  is  a 
great  deal  more  down  below  than  there  is  upon  the 
top.  Now,  for  many  purposes,  every  inch  a  man  goes 
downward,  in  cultivation,  is  equivalent  to  a  foot  on 
the  surface.  A  vertical  inch  is  worth  more  than  a 
superficial  foot.  And  it  is  lawful  to  increase  the  size 
of  a  man's  farm  by  going  under  for  the  ground. 

This  is  a  point  very  little  heeded,  even  by  those  who 
expend  great  sums  of  money  in  the  improvement  and 
ornamentation  of  their  places.  A  system  of  drainage 
should  be  established  at  a  depth  of  from  three  and  a 
half  to  four  feet.  If,  then,  the  ground  be  stoned  and 
enriched  to  a  depth  of  full  three  feet,  it  will  be  only 
in  a  good  condition  for  till.  Not  only  crops,  but  fruit- 
trees  and  forest  and  ornamental  trees,  demand  at 
least  such  a  depth.  Then  one  will  see  the  fruit  of 
his  labor  in  shrubs,  vines,  trees,  and  harvests,  which 
will  make  his  luck  the  envy  of  all  lazy  men  in  the 
neighborhood. 

In  short,  let  every  man  find  the  crooks  in  the  bot 
tom  lines  of  his  grounds,  and  spare  no  pains  to  take 
these  out,  and  he  may  be  sure  that  the  side  lines  will 
not  give  him  much  trouble. 


258  EYES  AND  EARS. 


TALKING. 


ALKING  and  laughing  are  distinguishing 
traits  of  the  human  species.  No  animal 
can  laugh,  nor,  except  as  a  mere  mechani 
cal  imitation  of  sounds,  can  any  animal 
talk.  Neither  bird  nor  beast  uses  articulate  speech 
as  a  means  of  conveying  thought  or  of  expressing 
feeling.  This  is  one  of  the  prerogatives  of  man.  But 
in  no  other  one  respect  do  men  differ  so  much  as  in 
laughing  or  talking.  Nor  are  we  apt  to  consider  how 
closely  these  acts  are  connected  with,  and  the  result 
of,  the  original  organization,  mental  and  physical.  A 
secretive  and  cautious  man  neither  talks  fluently  nor 
laughs  readily.  Some  men's  conversation  is  like  the 
ticking  of  an  old-fashioned  clock  with  a  long  pen 
dulum,  whose  measured  beats  are  slow  and  solemn. 
Once  started,  they  stop  for  nothing,  but  drop  one  word 
regularly  after  another,  to  the  end  of  their  methodical 
sentence.  If  you  are  yourself  quick,  versatile,  and  in  a 
hurry  withal,  you  grow  intolerably  restless  under  the 
conversation.  Your  tongue  is  horse-limbed,  and  their 
tongues  are  ox-footed.  At  the  first  half-dozen  words 
you  perceive  their  meaning,  and  then  the  slow-paced 
utterance  of  it  is  surplusage.  Perhaps  it  is  your 
minister.  You  cannot  tell  why  he  is  so  tedious. 
What  he  says  is  good,  and  it  is  well  said  ;  but  you 
cannot  refrain  from  wandering  thoughts.  You  are 
mercurial  and  imaginative,  and  he  is  phlegmatic  and 
literal.  Perhaps  it  is  your  schoolmaster,  and  he  bores 
you  with  his  solemn  and  long-drawn  repetitions.  Or 


TALKING.  259 

you  may  be  a  bouncing  boy,  full  of  sparkles  and 
quips,  doomed  to  stand  still  and  receive  the  slowly- 
poured  admonition  or  advice.  Your  nerves  rebel.  You 
grow  unreasonable.  You  inwardly  mutter  all  sorts 
of  harmless  objurgations.  But  Nature  is  imperative. 

Men  of  a  cautious  and  secretive  turn  of  mind  are 
seldom  talkers.  And  when  caution  is  disproportion- 
ally  powerful,  a  man  will  sometimes  be  unable  to  do 
more  than  issue  here  and  there  parts  of  sentences. 
He  will  begin,  and  stop ;  begin  again,  and  soon  tie 
up  the  sentence  with  a  twist  of  interjected  qualifying 
clause ;  then  again,  stopping  as  if  to  go  back  and 
look  over  what  he  has  said,  as  a  carpenter  sights  the 
edge  of  the  work  which  he  is  fitting ;  and,  finally,  he 
will  leave  the  sentence  very  much  in  the  shape  of  a 
bushel  of  apples  poured  out  in  a  heap  upon  the 
ground.  And  yet  we  have  known  such  men  to  be 
very  keen  in  perception,  acute  in  thought,  and  shrewd 
in  judgment.  But  it  seems  as  if  there  were  some 
break  in  the  machinery  which  connects  the  thinking 
part  and  the  language  part  of  the  mind.  And  their 
conversation  resembles  a  tune  played  upon  an  old 
piano,  half  of  whose  keys  do  not  connect  with  the 
wires,  and  give  no  sound. 

Some  men  use  words  as  riflemen  do  bullets.  They, 
say  little.  The  few  words  used  go  right  to  the  mark. 
They  let  you  talk,  and  guide  with  their  eye  and  face, 
on  and  on,  till  what  you  say  can  be  answered  in  a 
word  or  two,  and  then  they  lance  out  a  sentence, 
pierce  the  matter  to  the  quick,  and  are  done.  You 
never  know  where  you  stand  with  them.  Your  con 
versation  falls  into  their  mind,  as  rivers  fall  into  deep 
chasms,  and  are  lost  from  sight  by  its  depth  and 


260  EYES   AND   EARS. 

darkness.  They  will  sometimes  surprise  you  with  a 
few  words,  that  go  right  to  the  mark  like  a  gunshot, 
and  then  they  are  silent  again,  as  if  they  were  re 
loading. 

In  this  class  must  be  reckoned  men  who  alternate 
between  drought  and  freshet.  Sometimes  for  days 
or  hours  they  are  all  dried  up.  Suddenly  they  will 
send  forth  an  immense  tide  of  speech  that  quite 
sweeps  you  away.  We  have  seen  men  like  the  far- 
famed  Iceland  Geysers,  who  never  talked  till  they 
were  mad,  and  then  spouted  terribly.  It  is  said  oi 
these  northern  hot-springs,  that  if  you  throw  a  stone 
or  tuft  of  grass  into  their  throats,  you  soon  bring  up 
their  torrents  of  scalding  water  at  a  most  furious  rate. 

In  strong  contrast  with  such  are  the  smooth,  oily 
talkers  whom  we  occasionally  meet,  whose  voices  are 
soft  and  sweet,  and  who  have  an  inimitable  talent 
in  flowing  on,  without  let  or  hinderance,  in  the  most 
genial  and  soothing  manner.  They  steal  upon  your 
ear  and  lull  your  temper  ;  they  come  upon  you  with 
a  kind  of  charge  that  resembles  a  May  atmosphere 
after  March  winds.  One  cannot  remember  what  they 
say,  but  at  the  time  the  charm  amounts  almost  to  a 
fascination.  One  word  takes  hold  of  another  with 
such  a  soft  touch,  and  one  sentence  moves  into  an 
other,  as  drops  of  water  in  a  stream  move  indis- 
tinguishably  upon  each  other. 

There  seems  no  reason  to  doubt  that  a  propensity 
to  talk  is  as  much  a  natural  gift  as  a  propensity  to 
invent  or  to  construct.  We  have  known  persons 
who  neither  cared  whether  you  listened  to  them  or 
heeded  their  utterances.  *  A  good  woman,  we  once 
knew,  who  talked  as  rivers  run,  by  the  necessity 


TALKING.  261 

of  some  inward  gravitation  toward  outflow.  She 
would  begin  with  morning,  talk,  talk,  talk,  in  a 
cheery,  changeable  way,  branching  off  in  this  direc 
tion  or  that,  running  off  on  this  analogy,  or  toward 
that  suggestion  all  breakfast  time,  all  the  while  the 
table  was  being  cleared.  One  by  one  the  people  in 
the  room  —  who  had  learned  to  listen  to  her  no 
more  than  we  hear  the  ticking  of  a  clock  or  any 
other  continuous  sound  —  would  go  out,  till  the 
last  one  had  left.  It  was  all  the  same  to  her ;  a  low 
murmur  might  be  heard  in  the  room,  by  those 
adjoining  it,  for  the  good  soul  was<  pleasantly  talk 
ing  all  alone.  When  you  entered  again  she  merely 
continued,  and  so  on  all  day  and  evening.  It  was 
a  double  mystery  how  she  found  strength  and  ma 
terial  for  such  a  perennial  flow  by  daylight.  But, 
once  impressed  with  the  inevitableness  of  her  tongue, 
you  next  wondered  what  miraculous  power  bound  it 
to  silence  at  night.  It  was  like  a  brook  from  the  gla 
ciers,  which  flows  all  day  while  the  sun  shines  on  the 
ice,  but  is  sealed  up  by  frosts  at  night. 

But  the  subject  is  vast.  We  have  touched  but  the 
external  edge.  The  tongue  of  man  cannot  be  de 
scribed  in  an  article.  It  has  deep  inward  relations. 
It  has  national  and  political  bearings.  It  is  the  silver 
bell  of  the  soul,  or  the  iron  and  crashing  hammer 
of. the  anvil.  It  is  like  a  magician's  wand,  full  of 
all  incantation  and  witchery;  or  it  is  a  sceptre  in  a 
king's  hand,  and  sways  men  with  imperial  authority. 

The  pen  is  the  tongue  of  the  hand,  —  a  silent 
utterer  of  words  for  the  eye,  —  the  unmusical  sub 
stitute  of  the  literal  tongue,  which  is  the  soul's 
prophet,  the  heart's  minister,  and  the  interpreter  of 
the  understanding. 


262  EYES   AND   EARS. 


ART   AMONG   THE    PEOPLE. 

]HE  growth  of  good  taste,  the  extraordinary 
facilities  for  obtaining  art-creations  in  some 
form,  and  the  amount  of  sound  art-reading 
which  has  been  spread  into  all  society  by 
the  invaluable  agency  of  newspapers,  and  which  has 
educated  and  stimulated  the  feelings  and  judgment  of 
the  common  citizens  of  our  century,  have  begun  an 
era  of  art  such  as  the  world  never  saw,  and  could 
never  see  in  any  other  condition  of  society. 

There  has  been  a  great  deal  said  about  the  decline 
of  Art  in  our  age ;  a  great  deal  of  mourning  after  the. 
great  days  of  the  masters  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
and  a  great  deal  of  unwarrantable  regret  that  govern 
ments  do  not  more  encourage  Art. 

We  do  not  believe  that  Art  has  declined ;  we  do 
not  believe  that  the  sixteenth  century  was  any  better 
served  by  the  ministry  of  Art  than  ours  is ;  and  we 
do  not  believe  that  government  should  be  appealed  to 
to  foster  Art.  Whatever  incidental  encouragement  it 
can  give  should  be  freely  and  generously  conferred. 
But  it  is  the  common  people  that  must  in  our  times 
be  looked  to.  From  them  springs  all  political  influ 
ence.  We  look  to  them  for  the  maintenance  of  -all 
our  civil  and  religious  institutions.  We  look  to  them 
for  education,  for  reformation,  for  all  civic  public 
spirit ;  and  it  is  the  increasing  faith  of  our  times  that 
an  intelligent  common  people  are  better  promoters  of 
all  the  great  interests  of  society  than  can  be  govern 
ments  or  hierarchies.  This  is  just  as  true  of  Art  as  it 


ART   AMONG   THE   PEOPLE.  263 

is  of  Religion,  Education,  Commerce,  or  industrial 
pursuits.  Governments  may  help.  But  the  grand 
nourishing  influence  must  come  from  public  senti 
ment.  > 

If  Art  be  regarded  as  a  mere  decorator,  to  give 
us  only  grotesque  or  graceful  arabesques,  or  close 
imitations  of  natural  objects,  or  mere  graded  or  con 
trasted  colors,  in  Oriental  profusion,  it  would  be 
scarcely  worth  our  while  to  inquire  in  what  age  it 
had  flourished  most. 

There  is  undoubtedly  a  pleasure  of  the  senses  in 
the  simple  effect  of  form  and  color,  and  in  adroit 
imitations.  But  it  is  a  gratification  in  which  the 
intellect  and  the  higher  feelings  can  scarcely  partici 
pate.  What  would  be  the  condition  of  learning  and 
literature  in  an  age  in  which  the  paper,  the  type,  the 
binding  of  books,  were  deemed  more  important  than 
the  meanings  and  truths  contained  ?  But  just  that  is 
done  when  pictures  are  valued  for  their  mechanical 
dexterity  and  the  impression  on  the  senses. 

But  Art  is  a  pictorial  language.  It  must  discourse 
in  every  age  of  the  things  which  belong  to  that  age, 
or  to  the  purposes  which  a  Divine  Providence  is  de 
veloping  in  any  period  of  time.  In  the  far-famed  six 
teenth  century,  ideas  found  but  a  slow  and  very  imper 
fect  diffusion.  The  poet  sang,  the  orator  spoke,  the 
churchman  and  professor  taught.  But  there  was  no 
printing-press,  no  popular  assembly,  no  common  peo 
ple  reading  daily  newspapers,  and  made  familiar  with 
all  that  the  noblest  minds  thought,  or  great  hearts 
felt,  or  skilful  hands  executed.  The  most  public 
things  would  seem  to  our  day  almost  secluded. 

In  such  a  time,  Architecture  had  a  moral  function 


264  EYES   AND   EARS. 

that  it  can  never  have  again.  We  shall  never  have 
cathedrals,  because  we  have  better  ways  of  expressing 
religious  yearnings.  We  build  up  a  great  Common 
People,  in  thrift,  honor,  purity,  faith,  and  piety,  and 
they  express  the  religious  ideas  of  an  age  better  than 
can  the  costliest  and  most  skilfully  wrought  architec 
ture.  Meanwhile,  Architecture  occupies  itself  with 
another  work.  It  now  builds  five  hundred  parish 
churches  instead  of  one  metropolitan  cathedral.  It 
builds  fewer  palaces,  but  more  mansions.  It  builds 
fewer  marvels,  but  more  good  houses.  In  short, 
Architecture  is  no  longer  in  the  hands  of  government, 
of  the  Church,  or  of  mere  wealth.  It  has  become  the 
servant  of  the  common  people.  It  has  worked  out 
the  aristocratic  idea,  and  is  now  working  out  the  true 
democratic  idea.  And  this  work  is  in  nature  diffu 
sive  and  detailed,  not  massed  and  magnificent.  The 
world  never  saw  so  much  architectural  progress  as 
now.  Men  fail  to  see  it,  because  all  men  look  at  Art 
from  the  aristocratic  stand-point,  and  do  not  sympa 
thize  with  the  moral  element  which  it  serves  in  our 
times. 

The  same  thing  is  true  of  Painting.  Once  it  was 
the  creature  of  the  state.  This  in  Athens  was  so 
eminently  the  case,  that  not  until  after  the  decline  of 
Greece  began  was  Art  regarded  as  permissible  in  the 
citizen's  dwelling.  It  was  a  sacred  language,  used 
only  in  the  temples  of  religion  or  in  state  build 
ings.  The  wealthiest  men,  the  greatest  statesmen, 
and  the  artists  themselves,  had  neither  paintings 
nor  statues  in  their  houses.  Indeed,  the  private 
houses  of  Athens  were  small,  stinking  nuisances,  long 
after  the  city  was  the  admiration  of  the  world  for  its 
public  buildings. 


ART  AMONG   THE   PEOPLE.  265 

In  later  days  —  those  very  days  so  much  lauded, 
when  Raffaelle,  M.  Angelo,  Leonardo,  Correggio,  Ti 
tian,  Paul  Veronese,  &c.,  lived  —  what  interests  did 
Art  serve  ?  It  was  aristocratic  and  hierarchic.  It 
belonged  to  the  palace  and  the  church.  It  had  al 
most  no  sympathy  with  the  common  people.  It  was 
large,  noble,  magnificent.  It  did  a  much-needed  work. 
But  it  completed  that  work.  It  served  one  element 
as  long  as  the  world  needed  that  it  should.  Its 
mission  was  then  in  advance.  The  earlier  and  ruder 
forms  of  society  are  the  monarchic.  The  later  and 
riper  developments  are  republican  in  spirit,  whatever 
be  the  form.  Art  was  called  down  from  great  ceilings 
and  vast  walls,  from  churches  and  palaces,  because 
the  citizen  was  building  his  house,  and  it  is  a  higher 
function  for  Art  to  serve  the  whole  citizenship  than 
to  serve  their  rulers.  The  men  governed  are  more 
noble  and  more  valuable  than  they  that  govern  them. 
Men  are  nearer  to  God  than  governments. 

It  is  in  this  direction  that  Art  has  been  steadily 
inclining.  It  has  had  less  and  less  to  do  for  exclu 
sive  wealth,  for  institutions  and  for  governments, 
and  more  for  the  common  people.  And  it  is  yet  to 
perform  its  highest  offices  in  this  interest.  There 
is  a  life  to  be  expressed,  there  are  truths  to  be  repre 
sented  there  are  exquisite  experiences  of  joy  and  of 
sorrow,  there  is  a  whole  realm  of  household  life, 
of  moral  life,  of  common  occupation,  which,  as  yet, 
has  been  imperfectly  served  or  expressed. 

The  true  artist  is  he  who  perceives  in  common 
things  a  meaning  of  beauty  or  sentiment  which 
coarser  natures  fail  to  detect.  The  artist  is  not  an 
imitator  who  makes  common  things  on  canvas  look 


266  EYES  AND  EARS. 

just  like  common  things  anywhere  else.  Artist  is 
Interpreter.  He  teaches  men  by  opening  through 
imitation  the  message  of  deeds,  events,  or  objects, 
so  that  they  rise  from  the  senses,  where  before  they 
had  exclusively  presented  themselves,  and  speak  to 
the  higher  feelings.  A  man  who  sees  in  Nature 
nothing  but  materiality,  is  no  more  an  artist  than  he 
is  a  musician  who,  in  one  of  Beethoven's  symphonies, 
hears  only  noise. 

And  we  deem  this  mission  of  Art  as  much  more 
noble  and  morally  grand  than  that  which  it  hitherto 
served,  as  mankind  are  more  noble  and  grand  than 
their  accidental  rulers  and  their  harnessing  institu 
tions.  Thus  far,  we  have  but  laid  down  the  principal 
thought.  Its  applications  would  require  a  much 
larger  ,space. 


SLIDING    DOWN    HILL. 


HERE  is  nothing  in  the  tropics  that  can 
console  a  man  doomed  to  dwell  there  for 
the  loss  of  northern  winters.  Monkeys  and 
humming-birds,  gorgeous  flowers  and  gigan 
tic  vegetation,  insects,  reptiles,  luscious  fruits  which 
you  cannot  eat  without  a  cholera,  sweltering  nights 
and  roasting  days !  Deliver  us  from  the  intolerable 
delights  of  tropical  luxury! 

But  a  northern  winter  is  full  of  bracing  joys. 
Indoors  all  is  ruddy  and  social,  and  out  of  doors  all 
is  energy  and  manly  joy !  A  man  who  has  blood 
and  vital  spirits  glories  in  the  cold  of  winter.  But 


SLIDING  DOWN  HILL.  267 

of  all  its  sports,  what  one  can  claim  superiority  over 
coasting;  or,  as  in  our  boyhood  days  it  was  called, 
sliding  down  hill ! 

Long  before  we  attained  the  age  of  a  sled,  two 
barrel-staves,  fastened  together  by  the  knowing  work 
man,  served  an  excellent  purpose,  and  required  no 
mean  skill  in  sitting  and  steering.  A  slight  mistake 
in  balancing,  and  the  boy  and  staves  changed  places, 
the  boy  under  and  the  sliding  machine  a-top,  —  and 
then  gradually  rolling  into  a  promiscuous  heap,  out 
of  which  came  some  ripping  remarks  —  not  made 
by  the  sled. 

Next  came  the  glory  of  full  and  real  sledship,  —  a 
sled  with  runners,  and  iron  or  steel  shod ;  a  sled 
painted  and  lettered !  With  that  we  defied  the  ther 
mometer,  and  set  our  faces  against  the  north-wind ! 
And  how  the  long  hill,  a  full  half-mile,  is  sought, 
not  all  of  a  gentle  slope,  nor  yet  too  steep,  but  prop 
erly  made  up,  as  all  hills  should  be,  with  a  fine  grad 
ual  beginning,  then  a  pitch  quite  steep,  then  an 
other  long  middle  slope,  and  a  jounce  here,  a  rullock 
there,  a  sweep  yonder  around  a  point,  and  a  fetch- 
ing-up  place  right  along  the  river!  On  such  a  hill 
top,  with  a  glorious  sled,  well-muffled  and  mittened, 
the  boy  seats  himself  on  his  steed,  prouder  than  ever 
sat  king  upon  his  throne  !  Away  he  goes,  with  nim 
ble  feet  reaching  out  before  him  (for  a  sled  carries 
its  rudder  at  the  bow),  and  whose  heels,  with  skilful 
touch,  steer  the  flying  machine.  See  him  make  a 
leap  over  the  rullock,  lifted  clear  into  the  air,  and 
coming  down  with  a  jounce  that  made  everything 
crack  —  but  the  boy  !  Boys  have  springs  inside  of 
them,  under  every  muscle,  on  all  sides  of  each  bone, 


268  EYES  AND   EARS. 

and  come  down  with  a  springy  bound  that  cars  and 
carriages  may  envy,  but  cannot  hope  to  attain  ! 

None  of  your  belly-flounders !  This  lying  down 
on  a  sled,  like  a  buckwheat  cake  on  a  griddle ;  or 
that  sideway  sitting,  on  the  hind  end  of  it,  with  one 
leg  cork-screwed  out  behind,  for  steering,  are  not  the 
thing.  They  are  not  orthodox.  They  savor  of  a 
compliance  with  weakness  and  timidity.  A  real  boy 
should  sit  upon  his  sled  fair  and  square,  with  his 
face  to  his  work,  and  ready  to  meet  all  difficulties 
with  his  breast  to  them ! 

Nor  let  any  one  decry  the  long  tramp  up  hill  that 
follows  this  fierce  flight  downward.  What  if  it  is 
long,  the  sled  hanging  behind,  the  way  slippery,  and 
withal  some  peril  of  those  avalanches  of  other  boys 
that  come  roaring  and  whirling  down  ?  The  going 
up  is  still  an  indispensable  part  of  the  epic.  It  is 
the  dark  that  gives  power  to  the  high  light.  The 
up  makes,  by  contrast,  the  very  glory  of  the  down. 
Besides,  as  it  is  appointed  to  every  hen,  when  she 
has  laid  an  egg,  to  enter  at  large  into  the  merits  of 
the  performance,  and  to  tell  the  barnyard  and  neigh 
borhood  her  opinion  of  that  last  egg,  and,  doubtless, 
if  we  but  understood  the  true  interior  meaning  of 
cackle,  to  say, — "Here's  an  egg  for  omelettes,  ome 
lettes,  omelettes ;  good  also  for  cakes,  cakes,  cakes ; 
the  very  soul  of  custard,  custard,  custard ;  good  raw, 
good  roasted,  good  boiled,  good  fried.  Good  soft  or 
hard  ;  —  good  eggs,  good  eggs,  very  good  eggs,"  —  so 
(let  me  see,  that  intolerable  hen  has  confused  this 
sentence  so  that  we  don't  just  see  how  to  tie  it 
together,  —  ah,  here  it  is ! )  as  this  hen,  having  done 
all  the  above,  discourses  of  it  (as  per  above  transla- 


SLIDING  DOWN   HILL.  269 

tion),  so  the  boy  occupies  the  long  ascent  in  declar 
ing  the  skill,  speed,  and  wonderful  daring  of  his 
descent,  and  is  vehement  in  setting  forth  what  liked 
to  have  happened,  and  the  thing  which  he  almost 
did! 

We  never  see  the  snow  on  the  ground,  old  as  we 
are,  that  we  do  not  feel  the  very  spirit  of  the  sled 
again !  And  now,  an  old  man,  we  would  if  we  could 
mount  and  plunge  down  the  hill  again.  Though  a 
man's  hair  is  as  white  as  the  snow  under  his  feet,  he 
need  not  be  ashamed  of  a  voyage  on  a  sled ! 

There  is  but  one  city  in  this  nation,  that  we  know 
of,  that  is  civilized,  and  that  city  is  New  Bedford. 
One  winter,  not  long  ago,  when  we  were  there,  we 
found  a  long  street  refused  to  horse- vehicles,  and  set 
apart  to  sleds.  The  Selectmen,  or  whatever  their 
names  were,  at  the  public  expense  carted  on  snow 
where  the  track  was  worn ;  iced  it  by  water  thrown 
on  overnight ;  stationed  a  band  of  music  there ;  had 
torches  lit  and  placed  along  the  sides ;  and  the  gener 
ous  people,  catching  the  spirit,  illumined  their  houses, 
and  this  preparation  was  then  thrown  open  to  men, 
women,  and  children.  That  city  is  civilized.  That 
part  of  the  millennium  which  consists  in  sliding 
down  hill  we  believe  will  begin  first  in  New  Bedford. 


270  EYES  AND   EARS. 


GAMBLING. 


HE  universal  prevalence  of  this  vice  is  a 
reason  for  parental  vigilance  ;  and  a  reason 
of  remonstrance  from  the  citizen,  the  parent, 
the  minister  of  the  gospel,  the  patriot,  and 
the  press.  I  propose  to  trace  its  opening,  describe  its 
subjects,  and  detail  its  effects. 

A  young  man,  proud  of  freedom,  anxious  to  exert 
his  manhood,  has  tumbled  his  Bible  and  sober  books 
and  letters  of  counsel  into  a  dark  closet.  He  has 
learned  various  accomplishments,  —  to  flirt,  to  boast, 
to  swear,  to  fight,  to  drink.  He  has  let  every  one  of 
these  chains  be  put  around  him,  upon  the  solemn 
promise  of  Satan  that  he  would  take  them  off  when 
ever  he  wished.  Hearing  of  the  artistic  feats  of  emi 
nent  gamblers,  he  emulates  them.  So  he  ponders 
the  game.  He  teaches  what  he  has  learned  to  his 
shopmates,  and  feels  himself  their  master.  As  yet  he 
has  never  played  for  stakes.  It  begins  thus :  Peeping 
into  a  bookstore,  he  watches  till  the  sober  customers 
go  out ;  then  slips  in,  and  with  assumed  boldness,  not 
concealing  his  shame,  he  asks  for  cards,  buys  them, 
and  hastens  out.  The  first  game  is  to  pay  for  the 
cards.  After  the  relish  of  playing  for  a  stake,  no 
game  can  satisfy  them  without  a  stake.  A  few  nuts 
are  staked ;  then  a  bottle  of  wine  ;  an  oyster-supper. 
At  last  they  can  venture  a  sixpence  in  actual  money, 
— just  for  the  amusement  of  it.  I  need  go  no  fur 
ther —  whoever  wishes  to  do  anything  with  the  lad 
can  do  it  now.  If  properly  plied,  and  gradually  led, 


GAMBLING.  271 

ho  will  go  to  any  length,  and  stop  only  at  the  gallows. 
Do  you  doubt  it  ?  let  us  trace  him  a  year  or  two  fur 
ther  on. 

With  his  father's  blessing,  and  his  mother's  tears, 
the  young  man  departs  from  home.  He  has  received 
his  patrimony,  and  embarks  for  life  and  independence. 
Upon  his  journey  he  rests  at  a  city  ;  visits  the  "  school 
of  morals";  lingers  in  more  suspicious  places;  is 
seen  by  a  sharper  ;  and  makes  his  acquaintance.  The 
knave  sits  by  him  at  dinner ;  gives  him  the  news  of 
the  place,  and  a  world  of  advice ;  cautions  him 
against  sharpers ;  inquires  if  he  has  money,  and 
charges  him  to  keep  it  secret ;  offers  himself  to  make 
with  him  the  rounds  of  the  town,  and  secure  him 
from  imposition.  At  length,  that  he  may  see  all,  he 
is  taken  to  a  gaming-house,  but,  with  apparent  kind 
ness,  warned  not  to  play.  He  stands  by  to  see  the 
various  fortunes  of  the  game :  some,  forever  losing ; 
some,  touch  what  number  they  will,  gaining  piles  of 
gold.  Looking  is  thirst  where  wine  is  free.  A  glass 
is  taken  ;  another  of  a  better  kind ;  next  the  best  the 
landlord  has,  and  two  glasses  of  that.  A  change 
comes  over  the  youth ;  his  exhilaration  raises  his 
courage  and  lulls  his  caution.  Gambling  seen  seems 
a  different  thing  from  gambling  painted  by  a  pious 
father  !  Just  then  his  friend  remarks  that  one  might 
easily  double  his  money  by  a  few  ventures,  but  that  it 
were,  perhaps,  prudent  not  to  risk.  Only  this  was 
needed  to  fire  his  mind.  What!  only  prudence  be 
tween  me  and  gain  ?  Then  that  shall  not  be  long ! 
He  stakes ;  he  wins.  Stakes  again ;  wins  again. 
Glorious  !  I  am  the  lucky  man  that  is  to  break  the 
bank  !  He  stakes,  and  wins  again.  His  pulse  races ; 


272  EYES   AND  EARS. 

his  face  burns ;  his  blood  is  up,  and  fear  gone.  He 
loses  ;  loses  again  ;  loses  all  his  winnings  ;  loses  more. 
But  fortune  turns  again ;  he  wins  anew.  He  has 
now  lost  all  self-command.  Gains  excite  him,  and 
losses  excite  him  more.  He  doubles  his  stakes  ;  then 
trebles  them,  —  and  all  is  swept.  He  rushes  on,  puts 
up  his  whole  purse,  and  loses  the  whole!  Then  he 
would  borrow ;  no  man  will  lend.  He  is  desperate, 
he  will  fight  at  a  word.  He  is  led  to  the  street,  and 
thrust  out.  The  cool  breeze  which  blows  upon  his 
fevered  cheek  wafts  the  slow  and  solemn  stroke  of 
the  clock,  —  one,  —  two,  —  three,  —  four  ;  four  of  the 
morning  !  Quick  work  of  ruin  !  —  an  innocent  man 
destroyed  in  a  night !  He  staggers  to  his  hotel,  re 
members  as  he  enters  it  that  he  has  not  even  enough 
to  pay  his  bill.  It  now  flashes  upon  him  that  his 
friend,  who  never  had  left  him  for  an  hour  before, 
had  stayed  behind  where  his  money  is,  and  doubtless 
is  laughing  over  his  spoils.  His  blood  boils  with  rage. 
But  at  length  comes  up  the  remembrance  of  home ; 
a  parent's  training  and  counsels  for  more  than  twenty 
years  destroyed  in  a  night !  "  Good  God !  what  a 
wretch  I  have  been  !  I  am  not  fit  to  live.  I  cannot 
go  home.  I  am  a  stranger  here.  0  that  I  were 
dead !  0  that  I  had  died  before  I  knew  this  guilt, 
and  were  lying  where  my  sister  lies  !  0  God !  O 
God!  my  head  will  burst  with  agony!"  He  stalks 
his  lonely  room  with  an  agony  which  only  the  young 
heart  knows  in  its  first  horrible  awakening  to  remorse, 
—  when  it  looks  despair  full  in  the  face,  and  feels  its 
hideous  incantations  tempting  him  to  suicide.  Sub 
dued  at  length  by  agony,  cowed  and  weakened  by 
distress,  he  is  sought  again  by  those  who  plucked  him. 


WINTER   BEAUTY.  273 

Cunning  to  subvert  inexperience,  to  raise  the  evil 
passions,  and  to  allay  the  good,  they  make  him  their 
pliant  tool. 

Farewell,  young  man !  I  see  thy  steps  turned  to 
that  haunt  again !  I  see  hope  lighting  thy  face  ;  but 
it  is  a  lurid  light,  and  never  came  from  heaven.  Stop 
before  that  threshold !  —  turn,  and  bid  farewell  to 
home  !  —  farewell  to  innocence  !  — farewell  to  venera 
ble  father  and  aged  mother !  —  the  next  step  shall  part 
thee  from  them  all  forever.  And  now  henceforth  be 
a  mate  to  thieves,  a  brother  to  corruption.  Thou  hast 
made  a  league  with  death,  and  unto  death  shalt 
thou  go. 


WINTER    BEAUTY. 

|T  is  the  impression  of  many  that  only  in 
summer,  including  spring  and  autumn  of 
course,  is  the  country  desirable  as  a  resi 
dence.  The  country  in  summer,  and  the 
city  for  the  winter.  It  is  true,  that  the  winter  gives 
attractions  to  the  city,  in  endless  meetings,  lectures, 
concerts,  and  indoor  amusements.  But  it  is  not  true 
that  the  country  loses  all  interest  when  the  leaves 
are  shed  and  the  grass  is  gone.  0n  the  contrary, 
to  one  who  has  learned  how  to  use  his  senses  and 
his  sensibilities,  there  are  attractions  in  the  winter  of 
a  peculiar  kind,  and  pleasures  which  can  be  reaped 
only  then.  The  disadvantages  of  wet  roads,  unpaved 
sidewalks,  plashy  fields,  are  felt  more  by  an  invalid 
than  by  persons  of  robust  health. 


274  EYES  AND  EARS. 

It  seems  to  me  that  winter  comes  in  to  relieve  the 
year  of  satiety.  The  mind  grows  sated  with  green 
ness.  After  eight  or  nine  months  of  luxuriant 
growths,  the  eye  grows  accustomed  to  vegetation. 
To  be  sure,  we  never  are  less  than  pleased  with  the 
wide  prospect ;  with  forms  of  noble  trees,  with  towns 
and  meadows,  and  with  the  whole  aspect  of  nature. 
But  it  is  the  pleasure  of  one  pampered.  We  lose 
the  keen  edge  of  hunger.  The  eye  enjoys  without 
the  relish  of  newness.  We  expect  to  enjoy.  Every 
thing  loses  surprise.  Of  course,  the  sky  is  blue, 
the  grass  succulent,  the  fields  green,  the  trees  umbra 
geous,  the  clouds  silent  and  mysterious.  They  were 
so  yesterday,  they  are  so  to-day,  they  will  be  so  to 
morrow,  next  week,  next  month.  In  short,  the  mind 
does  not  cease  to  feel  the  charm  of  endless  growths, 
but  needs  variety,  change  of  diet,  less  of  perpetual 
feasting,  and  something  of  the  blessings  of  a  fast. 
This  winter  gives.  It  says  to  us :  You  have  had  too 
much.  You  are  luxurious  and  dainty.  You  need 
relief  and  change  of  diet. 

The  cold  blue  of  the  sky,  the  cold  gray  of  rocks, 
the  sober  warmth  of  browns  and  russets,  take  the 
place  of  more  gorgeous  colors.  If,  now,  one  will 
accept  this  change  in  the  tone  of  nature,  after  a  time 
a  new  and  relishful  pleasure  arises.  The  month 
formed  by  the  last  fortnight  of  November  and  the 
first  two  weeks  of  December  is,  to  me,  the  saddest 
of  the  year.  It  most  nearly  produces  the  sense  of 
desolateness  and  dreariness  of  any  portion  of  the 
year.  From  the  hour  that  the  summer  begins  to 
shorten  its  days,  and  register  the  increasing  change 
along  the  horizon,  over  which  the  sun  sets,  farther 


WINTER  BEAUTY.  275 

and  farther  toward  the  south,  we  have  a  genial  and 
gentle  sadness.  But  sadness  belongs  to  all  very 
deep  joys.  It  is  almost  as  needful  to  the  perfect- 
ness  of  joy,  as  shadows  in  landscapes  are  to  the 
charm  of  the  picture.  Then,  too,  comes  the  fading 
out  of  flowers,  —  each  variety  in  its  turn  saying, 
"  Farewell  till  next  summer."  Scarcely  less  sug 
gestive  of  departing  summer  are  the  new-comers,  the 
late  summer  golden-rod,  the  asters,  and  all  autum 
nal  flowers.  Long  experience  teaches  us  that  these 
are  the  latest  blossoms  that  fall  from  the  sun's  lap, 
and  next  to  them  is  snow.*-  By  association  we  already 
see  white  in  the  yellow  and  blue.  Then,  too,  birds 
are  thinking  of  other  things.  No  more  nests,  no 
more  young,  no  more  songs,  except  signal-notes  arid, 
rally  ing-calls ;  for  they  are  evidently  warned,  and 
go  about  their  little  remaining  daily  business  as  per 
sons  who  expect  every  hour  to  depart  to  a  distant 
land.  It  is  scarcely  ever  that  we  see  birds  go.  They 
are  here  to-day,  and  gone  to-morrow.  They  disap 
pear  without  observation.  The  fields  are.  empty  and 
silent.  It  seems  as  if  the  winds  had  blown  them 
away  with  the  leaves.  The  first  sight  of  northern 
water-fowl,  far  up  in  air,  retreating  from  Labra 
dor  and  the  short  Arctic  summer,  is  always  to  us 
like  the  declaration :  Summer  is  gone,  winter  is 
behind  us,  it  will  soon  be  upon  you.  At  last  come 
the  late  days  of  November.  All  is  gone,  —  frosts 
reap  and  glean  more  sharply  every  night.  A  few 
weeks  bring  earnest  winter.  Then  begin  to  dawn 
other  delights.  The  bracing  air,  the  clean  snow- 
paths,  the  sled  and  sleigh,  the  revelation  of  forms 
that  all  summer  were  grass-hidden ;  the  sharp-out- 


276  EYES   AND  EARS. 

lined  hills  lying  clear  upon  the  sky ;  the  exquisite 
tracery  of  trees ;  especially  of  all  such  trees  as  that 
dendral  child  of  God,  the  elm,  whose  branches  are 
carried  out  into  an  endless  complexity  of  fine  lines 
of  spray,  and  which  stands  up  in  winter  showing  in 
its  whole  anatomy  that  all  its  summer  shade  was 
founded  upon  the  most  substantial  reality. 

In  winter,  too,  particularly  in  the  latter  periods  of 
it,  the  extremities  of  shrubs  and  branches  begin  to 
take  on  ruddy  hues,  or  purplish  browns,  and  the 
eye  knows  that  these  are  the  first  faint  blushes  of 
coming  summer.  Amidst  snows  and  storms  and 
sharp  severity  of  frosts,  the  lover  detects  the  color 
of  his  coming  mistress.  Now,  too,  we  find  how 
beautiful  are  the  mosses  in  the  woods ;  and  under 
them  we  find  solitary  green  leaves,  that  have 
laughed  all  winter  because  they  had  outwitted  the 
frost.  Wherever  flowing  springs  gush  from  sheltered 
spots  looking  south,  one  will  find  many  green  edges, 
young  grass,  and  some  few  tougher  leaves.  Now, 
too,  in  still  days,  the  crow  sings  heavily  through  the 
air,  cawing  with  a  pleasing  harshness.  For  dieting 
has  performed  its  work.  Your  appetite  is  eager.  A 
little  now  pleases  you  more  than  abundance  did  in 
August.  Every  tiny  leaf  is  to  you  like  a  cedar  of 
Lebanon. 

All  these  things  are  unknown  to  dwellers  in  cities. 
It  is  nothing  to  them  that  a  robin  appeared  for  the 
first  time  yesterday  morning,  or  that  a  bluebird  sang 
over  against  the  house.  Some  new  prima  donna 
exhausts  their  admiration.  They  are  yet  studying 
laces,  and  do  not  care  for  the  fringe  of  swamps,  for 
the  first  catkins  of  the  willow.  They  are  still  cov- 


WINTER   BEAUTY.  277 

eting  the  stores  of  precious  stones  at  the  jewellers, 
and  do  not  care  for  my  ruby  buds,  and  red  dogwood, 
and  scarlet  winter  berries,  and  ground  pine,  and  par 
tridge-berry  leaves. 

There  is  one  sight  of  the  country  at  about  this 
time  of  the  year  —  the  first  of  March  —  that  few 
have  seen,  or  else  they  have  passed  it  by  as  if  it 
were  not  worthy  of  record.  I  mean  the  drapery  of 
rocks  in  gorges,  or  along  precipitous  sides  of  hills  or 
mountains.  The  seams  of  rock  are  the  outlets  of 
springs.  The  water  trickling  through  is  seized  by 
the  frost,  and  held  fast  in  white  enchantment.  Every 
day  adds  to  the  length  of  the  ice  drapery.  And  as 
the  surface  is  overlaid  by  new  issuings,  it  is  furred 
and  fretted  with  silver-white  chasings,  the  most  ex 
quisite.  Thus  one  may  find  a  succession,  in  a  single 
gorge,  of  extraordinary  ice-curtains,  and  pendent 
draperies,  of  varying  lengths,  of  every  fantastic  form, 
of  colors  varying  by  thickness,  or  by  the  tinge  of 
earth  or  rock  shining  through  them. 

In  my  boyhood  I  used  to  wander  along  these  fairy 
halls  imagining  them  to  be  now  altars  in  long  white 
draperies ;  now,  grand  cathedral  pillars  of  white  mar 
ble  ;  then,  long  tapestries  chased  in  white  with  ara 
besques  and  crinkled  vines  and  leaves.  Sometimes 
they  seemed  like  gigantic  bridal  decorations,  or  like 
the  robes  of  beings  vast  and  high,  hung  in  their 
wardrobes  while  they  slept.  But  whatever  fancy 
interpreted  them,  or  whether  they  were  looked  upon 
with  two  good,  sober,  literal  eyes,  they  were,  and 
still  are,  among  the  most  delightful  of  winter  exhibi 
tions  to  those  who  are  wise  enough  to  search  out  the 
hidden  beauty  of  winter  in  the  country. 


278  EYES   AND   EARS. 


STREET    CRIES    AND    ORATORS'   VOICES. 

OBERT  BONNER:— I  am  reminded  of  my 
duty,  by  hearing  the  boys  in  the  streets  cry 
ing  out, "  NEW  YORK  LEDGER  !  "  with  a  saucy 
tone,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Have  you  got 
your  ears  open,  sir  ?  D'  ye  see,  sir  ?  "  Did  you  ever 
take  notice  of  the  voices  of  men  and  boys  that  get 
their  living  by  their  lusty  crying  ?  A  public  speaker 
may  well  envy  them.  Public  speakers  seldom  have 
great  advantage  over  other  men  in  voice,  power,  or 
quality.  It  is  rare,  rather  than  common,  among  the 
tens  of  thousands  whose  offices  require  public  speak 
ing,  to  hear  a  man  of  a  commanding  voice,  or  to 
find  a  speaker  whose  tones  are  smooth,  unlabored, 
and  yet  penetrating.  Some  men  are  boisterous  and 
vociferous,  that  they  may  give  force  to  their  sen 
tences.  But  that  gun  does  not  carry  a  ball  the 
farthest  that  makes  the  most  noise  in  going  off.  The 
crack  of  a  rifle  is  anything  but  noisy.  Such  is  the 
want  of  good  voice  capital,  that  men  are  always 
talking  about  good  speaking-rooms,  and  the  acoustic 
properties  of  lecture-rooms.  But  the  best  of  all 
properties  in  a  speaking-hall  is,  a  man  that  knows 
how  to  speak,  and  has  something  to  speak  with ! 
What  does  a  rooster  care  for  acoustic  aids  ?  He 
mounts  a  fence  lustily,  gives  a  preliminary  flap  of 
his  wings,  as  if  to  say,  "  I  could  have  flown  twice 
as  high,"  and  then  lets  off  a  crow  that  rings  and 
echoes  for  a  mile  around.  A  bull  will  sound  you  a 
bass  note  that  would  make  old  Westminister  Abbey 


STREET   CRIES  AND   ORATORS'   VOICES.  279 

shake.  A  crow  will  caw  to  you  at  two  miles  distance 
without  the  fear  of  bronchitis.  A  dog  will  bark  to 
a  whole  town  without  the  slightest  inconvenience  — 
to  himself.  And  yet  men  who  are  brought  up  to 
speaking  as  the  business  of  their  lives  cannot  make 
themselves  heard  at  a  hundred  feet  distance,  or, 
only  by  exertions  that  send  them  home  for  liniments, 
bandages,  and  caustic  ! 

It  does  not  follow  because  a  bird  can  fly,  that  a 
man  can,  it  may  be  said,  and  that  the  vigor  of  bird 
and  beast  in  vocal  organs  is  no  fair  analogy  for  men. 
But  it  becomes  so,  when  it  is  observed  that  men  who 
have  vigor  of  body,  who  live  much  in  the  open  air, 
and  who  practise  their  voice  in  the  free,  open  out 
doors,  come  to  have  the  same  resonance  and  almost 
the  same  power  that  is  found  in  animals.  A  plough- 
boy  can  be  heard  over  a  whole  neighborhood ;  an 
ox-driver  of  the  old  sort  needed  no  horn  to  let 
people  know  that  he  was  driving  into  town.  Far 
off  his  coming  sounds.  Military  men  and  shipmasters 
attain  to  great  power  of  propagating  sounds.  It  may 
be  said,  that,  though  such  persons  are  able  to  eject 
single  orders,  or  sentences,  they  could  not  sustain 
the  fatigue  of  a  continuous  delivery  for  an  hour. 

But  newsboys,  old-clothes  men,  all  street-cryers, 
and,  above  all,  chimney-sweeps,  have  voices  in  ex 
ercise  from  morning  till  night,  that  are  full,  round, 
and  often  rich  and  melodious.  There  used  to  be  in 
Brooklyn  a  chimney-sweep  whose  voice  I  coveted 
more  than  his  trade  or  complexion.  I  was  walking 
one  day  along  Orange  Street,  toward  the  Heights,  when 
the  whole  air  seemed  full  and  overflowing  with  a 
sound  as  smooth,  round,  and  melodious  as  an  organ 


280  EYES  AND  EARS. 

diapason.  It  fairly  rained  down  for  abundance  and 
universality.  The  houses  reflected  it.  The  streets 
were  channels  in  which  the  airy  stream  flowed.  I 
looked  in  every  direction  for  the  cause.  No  man 
seemed  the  author.  I  looked  up  and  down  the  street, 
turned  around  to  every  quarter,  —  for  the  sound 
came  equally  from  everywhere,  —  until  at  length, 
mounted  upon  the  chimney-top  of  one  of  the  highest 
houses,  sat  the  fellow  like  a  king  on  his  throne. 
Astride  of  the  stack,  lowering  or  pulling  up  his 
scraping  machine,  he  was  perched  like  a  blackbird 
indeed ;  but  much  more  musical !  Ah,  did  I  not 
have  to  lay  fast  hold  of  the  commandments,  to  save 
myself  from  coveting  ?  This  fellow,  without  doubt, 
if  he  ever  lived  in  a  pre-existent  state,  was  an  organ- 
pipe,  and  the  divinities  gave  him  life,  and  changed 
his  bellows  to  lungs,  as  a  reward  of  merit. 

But  to  return  from  Ethiopia :  — 

These  newsboys  show  what  out-of-door  practice 
will  do  for  a  man's  lungs.  Here  is  a  lawyer  who 
can  hardly  fill  a  court-room.  What  would  he  do  if 
he  had  a  long  street  before  him  ?  What  would  the 
pale  and  feeble-speaking  minister  do,  who  can  scarcely 
make  his  voice  reach  two  hundred  auditors,  if  he 
were  set  to  cry  "  New  York  Ledger  "  ?  These  news 
boys  stand  at  the  head  of  a  street,  and  send  down 
their  voice  through  it,  as  an  athlete  would  roll  a 
ball  down  an  alley.  We  advise  men  training  for 
speaking-professions  to  peddle  wares  in  the  streets  for 
a  little  time.  Young  ministers  might  go  into  partner 
ship  with  newsboys  awhile,  till  they  got  their  mouths 
open,  and  their  larynx  nerved  and  toughened. 

The  great  want  of  public  speakers  is  general  vigor. 


BE   GENEROUS   OF   BEAUTY.  281 

They  need  open  air,  toughening  exercise,  practice  of 
speaking  under  the  skies,  —  speaking,  not  bawling. 
A.  man  may  tear  his  voice  up  by  the  roots,  by  too 
much  of  a  gale.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  speaking 
at  a  mark!  With  the  same  tone,  let  a  man  prac 
tise,  removing  the  hearer  step  by  step  each  day,  till, 
with  the  same  exertion,  he  can  be  heard  at  great 
distances.  In  this  way  he  will  develop  quality  of 
tone.  For  in  speaking  it  is  quality  and  not  quantity 
that  gives  control  of  an  audience. 


BE    GENEROUS    OF^BEAUTY. 

|F  there  be  one  thing  that  marks  the  Divine 
benevolence  in  the  administration  of  the 
natural  world,  it  is  the  openness,  and,  if 
one  may  so  say,  the  free  benevolence  with 
which  beauty  is  made  to  be  the  property  and  solace 
of  all  men.  It  is  provided  above  and  beneath,  in 
every  form,  in  all  substances,  so  that,  whoever  has 
hunger  for  it  cannot  well  fail  to  find  food  for  his 
want.  Many  desirable  things  are  rare.  Only  skill 
can  gain  them ;  only  great  wealth  can  purchase  them. 
The  possession  of  libraries,  pictures,  sculpture,  deco 
rated  grounds,  must  be  limited  to  the  few.  They  are 
a  fortunate  aristocracy.  But,  fortunately  for  the  great 
multitude,  the  gifts  of  God  in  nature  are  without 
money  and  without  price. 

There  is  a  duty  implied  in  the  possession  of  treas 
ures  of  beauty.     No  selfishness  seems  to  us  so  end- 


282  EYES   AND  EARS. 

less,  and  so  peculiarly  base,  as  that  which  refuses  to 
men  the  innocent  enjoyment  of  the  treasures  of 
beauty.  It  may  not  be  wise  to  lend  books,  or  to  be 
free  with  things  which,  passing  from  hand  to  hand, 
may  be  lost,  damaged,  or  misappropriated.  We  do 
not  blame  any  one  for  making  his  library,  museum, 
or  picture  collection  stationary.  But  whoever  has 
that  which  can  confer  pleasure  and  profit  for  merely 
the  looking  at  it  must  be  selfish  indeed  to  hide  it 
from  hungry  eyes.  If  it  were  money  to  be  lent,  rai 
ment  to  be  worn,  food  to  be  eaten,  or  any  usage  that 
wastes  or  diminishes  the  treasure,  the  case  would  be 
different.  But  what  harm  comes  to  garden,  grounds, 
picture,  or  statue,  by  being  looked  at?  The  eyes 
wear  out  nothing!  Ten  million  men  have  gazed 
upon  Raffaelle's  Sistine  Madonna  and  Transfigura 
tion,  and  soiled  them  not,  nor  chafed  nor  dulled  their 
surface.  Not  half  so  softly  does  the  dew  steal  upon 
the  flower ;  not  half  so  lightly  does  it  rest  there,  as 
does  the  eye  rest  upon  objects  of  beauty ! 

Nothing  can  make  others  so  rich,  without  dimin 
ishing  our  own  means,  as  generosity  in  the  use  of 
art-treasures,  or  materials  of  beauty.  What  then 
shall  we  say  of  men  whose  houses  are  stored  with 
rare  and  curious  books  which  they  secrete  ?  There 
are  men  who  take  a  pride  in  owning  works  possessed 
by  almost  no  one  else,  and  then  in  hiding  them  from 
curious  eyes.  There  are  those  who  act  as  if  things 
were  unfitted  for  their  own  pleasure  if  they  had  also 
given  pleasure  to  any  one  else. 

What  shall  be  said  of  a  man  who,  by  mere  force 
of  money,  has  come  into  possession  of  some  picture, 
or  other  work  of  art,  which  embodies  the  noblest 


BE   GENEKOUS   OF   BEAUTY.  283 

thoughts  of  an  artist's  divine  genius,  and  then  veils 
it  from  the  world,  locks  it  up  for  his  selfish  gaze,  and 
virtually  annihilates  it? 

It  is  creditable  to  our  people  that,  generally,  a 
man  who  has  anything  that  is  worth  another's  atten 
tion,  is  more  than  willing  to  throw  it  open  to  all 
proper  and  reasonable  scrutiny.  Many  private  col 
lections  of  pictures  in  New  York  and  vicinity  are 
generously  placed,  on  certain  days  of  every  week, 
before  any  that  desire  to  see  them.  But  exceptions 
there  are.  It  is  said  that  some  of  Turner's  most 
striking  pictures  in  New  York  cannot  be  seen ;  that 
curious  and  excessively  rare  copies  of  Bibles  have 
been  hidden  up  with  a  miser's  greed,  and  that  schol 
ars  and  gentlemen  seeking  access  to  them  have  been 
rudely  repulsed.  A  money  miser  is  bad  enough.  A 
picture-miser,  a  book-miser,  is  yet  more  abject! 

There  is  another  thing  worthy  of  consideration, 
and  that  is,  a  certain  freedom  of  private  grounds. 
Gentlemen's  places  are  springing  up  in  every  direc 
tion.  Great  skill  is  employed  in  developing  the 
finest  effects  in  landscape,  garden,  bower,  and  shrub 
bery.  We  cannot  be  so  unreasonable  as  to  ask  that 
one  shall  divest  himself  of  all  privacy  and  seclusion, 
and  make  his  grounds  a  common ;  but  a  regulated 
liberty  of  courteous  intrusion  is  peculiarly  proper  and 
graceful  in  the  possessors  of  fine  grounds. 

But,  whatever  may  be  a  man's  judgment  as  to 
admission,  he  must  be  a  curmudgeon  who  insists 
upon  it  that  neither  the  foot  nor  the  eye  shall  in 
trude  upon  the  beauty  of  his  domain.  In  planting 
one's  grounds  it  is  fair,  by  hedge  or  thicket,  to  shut 
out  too  much  gazing,  —  all  unsightly  objects,  noise,  and 


284  EYES   AND   EARS. 

dust,  by  thick  trees  or  fences.  But  a  system  of  seclu 
sion,  that  yields  no  part  of  a  man's  grounds  to  the 
sight  of  passers-by,  cannot  be  justified.  It  is  a  wan 
ton  selfishness.  A  lawn  and  garden  lying  upon  the 
street,  but  separated  from  it  by  a  high,  close  fence, 
or  impervious  wall,  so  that  little  children,  the  poor, 
laborers,  common  people  of  all  kinds,  cannot  see  the 
treasures  within,  ought  to  be  made  an  offence  against 
good  manners.  It  is  an  immorality,  to  be  abated  by  a 
public  sentiment.  Can  anything  be  more  charming 
than  to  see  a  child's  face  set  between  two  pickets, 
like  a  sweet  picture  in  a  frame,  wistfully  looking  at 
beds  of  flowers,  vines,  and  trees  ? 

Methinks  the  gentle  thoughts  and  grateful  silence 
of  hundreds,  every  day,  who  pass  open  gardens,  and 
cultivated  yards,  must  be  more  pleasurable  to  the 
indulgent  owner  than  the  fragrance  of  all  his  flowers. 
Nothing  can  well  redeem  the  possession  of  beauty  in 
a  large  degree,  from  the  charge  of  sinful  self-indul 
gence,  but  such  a  use  of  it  as  shall  confer  pleasure 
on  all  those  who  need  the  solace  and  ministration  of 
the  divine  element  of  beauty. 


TRAILING   AKBUTUS.  285 


TRAILING    ARBUTUS.. 

]N  this  tenth  day  of  April  I  have  been  out  on 
the  hills  near  Elmira,  to  see  what  is  going  on 
among  the  citizens  of  the  vegetable  kingdom. 
A  basket,  a  garden  trowel,  a  pair  of  thick 
gloves,  and  a  stout,  seamless  cloth  overcoat  were  my 
outfit.  The  ground  was  white  in  spots  with  half- 
melted  snow.  A  few  whirls  of  snow  had  come  down 
in  the  night,  and  the  air  was  too  cold  to  change  it  to 
rain.  Some  green  leaves,  in  sheltered  nooks,  had  ac 
cepted  the  advances  of  the  sun,  and  were  preparing 
for  the  summer.  But  that  which  I  came  to  search 
after  was  the  trailing  arbutus,  one  of  the  most  exqui 
site  of  all  Nature's  fondlings. 

I  did  not  seek  in  vain.  The  hills  were  covered 
with  it.  Its  gay  whorls  of  buds  peeped  out  from  ruf 
fles  of  snow,  in  the  most  charming  beauty.  Many 
blossoms,  too,  quite  expanded,  did  I  find,  some  pure 
white,  and  a  few  most  delicately  suffused  with  pink. 
For  nearly  an  hour  I  wandered  up  and  down,  in  pleas 
ant  fancies,  searching,  plucking,  and  arranging  these 
most  beautiful  of  all  early  blossoms. 

Who  would  suspect  by  the  leaf  what  rare  delicacy 
was  to  be  in  the  blossom  ?  Like  some  people  of  plain 
and  hard  exterior,  but  of  sweet  disposition,  it  was  all 
the  more  pleasant  from  the  surprise  of  contrast.  All 
winter  long  this  little  thing  must  have  slumbered  with 
dreams,  at  least,  of  spring.  It  has  waited  for  no 
pioneer  or  guide,  but  started  of  its  own  self,  and  led 
the  way  for  all  the  flowers  on  this  hill-side. 


286  EYES  AND  EAES. 

Its  little  viny  stem  creeps  close  to  the  ground,  hum 
ble,  faithful,  and  showing  how  the  purest  white  may 
lay  its  cheek  on  the  very  dirt,  without  soil  or  taint. 

The  odor  of  the  arbutus  is  exquisite,  and  as  deli 
cate  as  the  plant  is  modest.  Some  flowers  seem  deter 
mined  to  make  an  impression  on  you.  They  stare  at 
you.  They  dazzle  your  eyes.  If  you  smell  them, 
they  overfill  your  sense  with  their  fragrance.  They 
leave  nothing  for  your  gentleness  and  generosity,  but 
do  everything  themselves.  But  this  sweet  nestler  of 
the  spring  hills  is  so  secluded,  half  covered  with  rus 
set  leaves,  that  you  would  not  suspect  its  graces,  did 
you  not  stoop  to  uncover  the  vine,  to  lift  it  up,  and 
then  you  espy  its  secluded  beauty.  If  you  smell  it, 
at  first  it  seems  hardly  to  have  an  odor.  But  there 
steals  out  of  it  at  length  the  finest,  rarest  scent,  that 
rather  excites  desire  than  satisfies  your  sense.  It  is 
coy,  without  designing  to  be  so,  and  its  reserve  plays 
upon  the  imagination  far  more  than  could  a  niore 
positive  way. 

Without  doubt,  there  are  intrinsic  beauties  in  plants 
and  flowers,  and  yet  very  much  of  pleasure  depends 
upon  their  relations  to  the  seasons,  to  the  places  where 
they  grow,  and  to  our  own  moods.  No  midsummer 
flower  can  produce  the  thrill  that  the  earliest  blos 
soms  bring  which  tell  us  that  winter  is  gone,  that 
growing  days  have  come !  Indeed,  it  often  happens 
that  the  air  is  cold,  and  the  face  of  the  earth  brown,  so 
that  we  have  no  suspicion  that  it  is  time  for  anything 
to  sprout,  until  we  chance  upon  a  flower.  That  reveals 
what  our  senses  had  failed  to  perceive,  —  a  warmth 
in  the  air,  a  warmth  in  the  soil,  an  advance  in  the 
seasons !  Strange,  that  a  silent,  white  flower,  growing 


TKAILING  AKBUTUS.  287 

on  a  hill-side,  measures  the  astronomic  changes,  and, 
more  than  all  our  senses,  discerns  that  the  sun  is 
travelling  back  from  his  far  southward  flight !  Some 
times  we  admire  flowers  for  their  boldness,  in  cases 
where  that  quality  seems  fit.  When  meadows  and 
fields  are  gorgeous,  we  look  for  some  flower  that  shall 
give  the  climax.  An  intensity  often  serves  to  reveal 
the  nature  of  things  in  all  their  several  gradations. 
A  violet  color  in  these  early  spring  days  would  not 
please  half  so  well  as  these  pure  whites  or  tender 
pinks.  We  like  snow-drops  and  crocuses  to  come  up 
pale-colored,  as  if  born  of  the  snow,  and  carrying  their 
mother's  complexion.  But  later,  when  the  eye  is  used 
to  blossoms,  we  wish  deeper  effects  and  profusions  of 
color,  which,  had  they  existed  earlier,  would  have 
offended  us. 

Flowers  seem  to  have  peculiar  power  over  some 
natures.  Of  course,  they  gratify  the  original  faculties 
of  form,  color,  odor ;  but  that  is  the  least  part  of  their 
effect.  They  have  a  mysterious  and  subtile  influence 
upon  the  feelings,  not  unlike  some  strains  of  music. 
They  relax  the  tenseness  of  the  mind.  They  dissolve 
its  rigor.  In  their  presence,  one  finds  almost  a  mag 
netic  tremulousness,  as  if  they  were  messengers  from 
the  spirit-world,  and  conveyed  an  atmosphere  with 
them  in  which  the  feelings  find  soothing,  pleasure, 
and  peacefulness.  Besides  this,  they  are  provocative 
of  imagination.  They  set  the  mind  full  of  fancies. 
They  seem  to  be  pretty  and  innocent  jugglers,  that 
play  their  charms  and  incantations  upon  the  senses 
and  the  fancy,  and  lead  off  the  thoughts  in  many  a 
curious  wondery,  in  gay  analogies,  or  curious  medleys 
of  fantastic  dreamings. 


288  EYES  AND  EARS. 

Well,  I  have  much  more  to  say,  if  I  should  say  all 
that  I  have  thought,  and  all  that  the  arbutus  said  to 
me,  this  wintry  spring  morning.  But,  since  I  cannot 
bring  you  here,  Mr.  Bonner,  to  let  you  see  the  hill 
and  all  its  little  jewels,  I  send  you  one  of  the  blossom 
clusters,  to  wear  in  your  button-hole ;  and  when  you 
go  home,  and,  very  properly,  are  asked,  "  Robert, 
who  gave  you  that  token  ?  "  —  don't  you  tell. 


MORALS    OF    BARGAINS. 

|ID  you  ever  hear  a  company  of  good  people, 
as  the  world  goes,  recounting  their  adven 
tures  in  the  purchase  of  goods  ?  They  shall 
be  persons  who  would  shrink  from  untruth, 
and  yet  more  from  an  overt  dishonesty.  Yet  have 
you  never  witnessed  the  great  delight  and  almost 
exultation  with  which  they  narrate  the  cheapness  of 
their  bargain  ?  Is  the  fair  market  price  of  cloth  one 
dollar  a  yard,  they  ask  your  congratulations  because 
they  bought  it  for  jifty  cents  a  yard !  Is  the  rich 
figured  silk  worth  two  dollars,  with  a  glow  of  un 
disguised  pleasure  they  tell  you  that  they  paid  but 
one  dollar  a  yard !  Is  a  horse  bought  for  half  his 
value,  —  a  carriage  for  one  third  of  what  it  cost  but 
a  week  before,  —  a  house  for  less  than  half  it  cost  the 
bankrupt  owner  to  build  it,  —  there  are  few  persons 
so  honest  as  not  to  feel  that  the  acquisition  has  an 
added  worth  by  this  very  buying  it  for  less  than  it  is 
worth. 


MORALS    OF   BARGAINS.  289 

Now  we  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  one  should  never 
buy  things  for  less  than  their  real  value ;  that  one 
should  never  avail  himself  of  depreciated  prices. 
But  what  is  the  disposition  which  makes  men  rejoice 
in  such  bargains  ?  Is  a  picture  worth  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars,  for  which  you  paid  but  fifty  ?  You 
have  obtained  goods  without  paying  a  fair  equivalent. 
Every  really  honest  man  should  always  pay  a  fair 
equivalent  for  whatever  he  possesses.  The  wish  to 
get  property  without  equitable  service,  or  full  and  fair 
consideration,  is  not  honest.  It  is  certainly  true  that 
property  may  lose  its  value  in  commercial  fluctuations, 
and  that  real  estate,  personal  property,  and  money 
itself,  may  from  time  to  time  change  its  value ;  and 
every  man  has  a  right  to  take  property  at  the  value 
which  it  has  at  the  time  of  purchase,  without  regard 
to  what  a  former  value  may  have  been.  But  this  is 
very  different  from  that  spirit  which  seeks  to  beat 
down  property  below  its  value  ;  to  take  advantage  of 
temporary  necessities,  to  desire,  even,  to  get  hold  of 
another  man's  property  without  paying  for  it  what  it 
ought,  in  a  given  state  of  market,  to  command.  No 
man  should  wish  another  man's  property  without  ren 
dering  for  it  a  full  equivalent. 

Now  it  is  our  impression  that  honest  people  (in 
their  own  opinion  honest)  do  habitually  desire  to  get 
more  than  they  give.  They  wish  to  obtain  something 
for  nothing.  They  jew,  chaffer,  higgle,  and  manage, 
with  that  peculiar  wisdom  implied  in  the  term  "  bar 
gaining,"  to  obtain  goods  without  paying  for  them 
what  they  ought  to  pay.  They  glory  in  success. 
They  narrate  the  steps  by  which  they  ensnare  the 
bargain.  They  hunt  for  coveted  goods  as  if  they  were 


290  EYES  AND   EARS. 

wild  animals,  and  to  be  obtained  by  adroitness  and 
cunning,  without  any  regard  to  justice  and  fairness. 
A  merchant  is  a  man  who  has  goods.  A  customer  is 
a  man  who  wishes  to  get  possession  of  them.  And 
he  seems  to  think  it  to  be  a  mere  trial  of  sharp  prac 
tice  between  them,  without  any  moral  principle  to 
govern  the  transaction.  But  if  to  desire  a  neighbor's 
goods  without  paying  for  them  is  coveting,  why  is  not 
a  wish  to  obtain  them  at  less  than  a  fair  price,  in  its 
own  degree,  just  as  surely  coveting  ? 

There  are  few  people  who  will  not  be  benefited  by 
pondering  over  the  morals  of  shopping.  The  wish  to 
get  more  than  you  have  means  to  pay  for  is  a  wish  to 
injure  your  neighbor,  —  to  obtain  his  possessions  with 
out  a  just  compensation.  And  although,  occasionally, 
a  thing  may  come  into  our  hands  which  we  could 
never  have  had  had  it  not  been  cheap,  yet  the  uni 
form  desire  to  depress  another's  property  for  the  sake 
of  making  it  our  own  is  dishonesty  in  disposition, 
whether  custom  sanctions  it  or  not. 


OUTLANDISH    BOOKS. 

is  good  to  walk  through  an  antiquarian 
bookstore.  There  is  a  great  deal  to  be 
learned  from  books  without  reading  them. 
The  histories  which  books  contain  are,  of 
ten,  not  half  so  interesting  or  so  instructive  as  the 
histories  which  books  themselves  are.  As  often  as 
the  spring  comes,  and  work  is  less  imperious,  and 


OUTLANDISH   BOOKS.  291 

warmer  days  set  loose  the  wild  and  yearning  imagi 
nations  of  the  soul,  as  the  air  sets  loose  the  roots  and 
frees  the  flowers  from  their  long  imprisonment,  we 
feel  a  roving  mood.  .The  fields  are  too  far  off,  and 
a  solitary  sea-side  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  vicinity 
of  this  great  commercial  city.  Picture-galleries  are 
few,  and  the  people  in  them  many ;  and  one  scarcely 
knows  where  to  find  the  quiet  and  the  meditative 
incitements  which  he  wants. 

At  such  times  I  stroll  into  one  of  those  establish 
ments,  now  so  numerous,  that  import  and  sell  sec 
ond-hand  books.  The  moment  that  one  is  across  the 
threshold  he  feels  that  he  has  changed  worlds.  All 
the  clamor  of  the  street,  the  ceaseless  passage  and 
clash  of  innumerable  vehicles,  the  confusion  of  voices, 
seem  smothered  to  a  low  and  gentle  hum,  and  even 
that  is  forgotten  in  a  moment.  Then  one  walks  up 
and  down  the  passages  lined  with  books,  the  alcoves 
of  books,  the  long  tables  thick  with  books,  the  corners 
stocked  and  heaped  with  books,  as  if  this  were  a  city 
of  books,  in  ruins,  like  some  Oriental  city  of  desola 
tion.  All  languages  are  here,  and  all  of  them  are 
dumb.  Their  silent  symbols  hold  up  hieroglyphic 
significance  to  such  eyes  as  may  chance  to  know 
them.  But  as  one  might  stand  over  a  tomb,  and 
muse  who  was  laid  therein,  of  what  nature,  disposi 
tion,  history ;  of  what  experience  of  woe  or  joy  in 
life ;  with  what  hopes,  thoughts,  ambitions,  struggles, 
failures,  or  evanescent  victories ;  so  do  we  stand  by 
the  side  of  a  book  in  an  unknown  language.  What 
means  this  title-page  ?  What  are  the  words  of  intro 
duction  ?  Open  to  the  middle :  is  this  a  story,  an 
argument,  a  criticism,  a  history  ?  Is  it  a  grave  affir- 


292  EYES   AND   EARS. 

mation  of  mighty  truth,  such  as  Bacon  would  have 
plucked  down  for  heavenly  thoughts  ?  or  is  it  some 
jester,  that  flashes  his  momentary  say,  and  waits  for 
an  answering  laughter  ?  How.  causeless  are  causes 
here.  These  words  that  have  fallen  on  many  a  soul 
like  a  bow  on  the  violin,  and  caused  vivid  emotions 
to  spring  forth  from  their  touch,  are  now  reaching 
toward  my  eye,  but  without  a  response.  They  touch, 
but  I  do  not  sound.  They  are  like  winds  blowing 
among  petrified  trees  whose  leaves  are  fast  and  whose 
branches  are  stiffened  forever.  But  though  their 
glory  is  gone,  once  they  were  sovereigns.  This  well- 
thumbed  volume  has  once  been  a  favorite.  It  has 
been  the  last  thing  consulted  before  sleep ;  a  solace 
to  lucid  intervals ;  perhaps  often  a  companion  of 
journeys.  Or  when  the  new  grass  was  soft  to  pave 
ment-worn  feet,  and  the  solitary  scholar  has  wan 
dered  out  to  hear  blackbirds  sing  by  the  side  of 
spring-swollen  streams,  or  to  search  for  cowslips  in 
the  watery  edges  of  the  marsh  lands,  under  his  arm, 
but  with  affectionate  care,  goes  this  welcome  compan 
ion.  A  book  is  good  company.  It  is  full  of  conver 
sation  without  loquacity.  It  comes  to  your  longing 
with  full  instruction,  but  pursues  you  never.  It  is 
not  offended  at  your  absent-mindedness,  nor  jealous 
if  you  turn  to  other  pleasures,  of  leaf,  or  dress,  or 
mineral,  or  even  of  books.  It  silently  serves  the  soul 
without  recompense,  not  even  for  the  hire  of  love. 
And  yet  more  noble,  it  seems  to  pass  from  itself,  and 
to  enter  the  memory,  and  to  hover  in  a  silvery  trans 
figuration  there,  until  the  outward  book  is  but  a  body, 
and  its  soul  and  spirit  are  flown  to  you,  and  possess 
your  memory  like  a  spirit.  And  while  some  books, 


OUTLANDISH   BOOKS.  293 

like  steps,  are  left  behind  us  by  the  very  help  which 
they  yield  us,  and  serve  only  our  childhood,  or  early 
life,  some  others  go  with  us  in  mute  fidelity  to  the 
end  of  life,  a  recreation  for  fatigue,  an  instruction 
for  our  sober  hours,  and  a  solace  for  our  sickness  or 
sorrow.  Except  the  great  out-doors,  nothing  that 
has  no  life  of  its  own  gives  so  much  life  to  you. 

And  here  are  these  uncomplaining  favorites,  now 
tumbled  in  heaps,  or  keeping  dusty  company  in  this 
great  catacomb  of  literature !  No  gentle  hand  now 
fondles  them,  no  eye  searches  them.  They  are  for 
eigners,  strangers  in  a  strange  land.  But,  peradven- 
ture,  there  yet  shall  come  a  dried  and  wrinkled  man, 
poor  in  garb,  as  befits  so  poor  a  purse,  and,  wandering 
up  and  down  among  these  silent  souls  imprisoned  in 
ink  and  paper  words,  who,  seeking  this  dusky  volume, 
shall  renew  his  'youth  of  joy,  greet  a  loving,  absent 
friend,  go  and  sell  all  that  he  hath  to  buy  this  pearl 
of  price  to  him,  and  faintly  kindle  again  in  his  heavy, 
dark  heart  the  light  of  a  long-lost  treasure. 

But  really,  Mr.  Bonner,  will  you  be  kind  enough 
to  give  me  a  nudge  ?  Will  you  do  me  the  kindness 
to  tread  on  my  foot,  and  tell  me  that  I  am  wander 
ing  ?  In  sooth,  I  have  not  said  one  of  the  fine  fan 
cies  that  led  me  to  begin.  So  much  the  worse,  you 
will  say,  for  those  that  have  the  reading  of  them 
hereafter ! 


294  EYES  AND   EARS. 


THE    DANDELION    AND    I. 

T  the  first  blossom,  but  the  first  dandelion 
of  the  year  came  to  us  on  the  seventeenth 
of  April !  Golden-faced  and  most  wel 
come  !  Not  the  earliest  of  flowers,  for  the 
woods  are  full  of  spring  beauties,  anemones,  and  oth 
ers.  The  willow  has  put  forth  its  queer,  mulberry- 
shaped  blossom.  But  there  is  something  so  bright 
and  cheerful  in  the  dandelion  that  its  first  coming  is 
always  watched  and  waited  for  with  great  eagerness, 
and  greeted  with  enthusiasm.  It  is  not  a  fragrant 
flower,  neither  is  it  often  gathered  for  the  house  or 
hand.  It  soon  shuts  up  when  picked.  But  it  is  the 
first  real  democratic  flower  of  our  season.  The  field 
violets  are  yet  reluctant.  The  wood  flowers  fight  the 
lingering  cold  from  behind  fences,  from  leaves,  and 
under  partial  protection.  The  sanguinaria,  or  Indian 
puccoon,  is  not  yet  sending  its  pure  white  blossom 
from  its  blood-red  root,  like  a  noble  soul  rising  from  a 
battle-stained  body.  The  ground  is  too  cold  for  the 
marsh  marigold  or  cowslip  of  New  England,  far-famed 
as  "  greens." 

The  dandelion  is  the  first  conspicuous,  hardy,  wide 
spread,  and  abundant  flower  of  spring.  It  grows  in 
all  places ;  on  hills,  in  the  meadow,  in  town  and  city, 
as  well  as  country.  It  gives  one  a  sudden  start  in 
going  down  a  barren,  stony  street,  to  see  upon  a  nar 
row  strip  of  grass,  just  within  the  iron  fence,  the  radi 
ant  dandelion  shining  in  the  grass,  like  a  spark 
dropped  from  the  sun !  It  stirs  up  the  thoughts  and 


THE   DANDELION   AND   I.  295 

tolls  us  what  is  going  on  in  the  heavens  and  on  the 
earth,  unbeknown  to  us  who  are  pent  up  in  cities. 
"Why,  if  dandelions  have  come,  then  birds  are  mated ; 
nests  are  repairing  or  building  ;  swallows  are  coming, 
and  wrens  and  phoebes  have  come !  Bluebirds  and 
robins  and  song-sparrows  must  have  become  familiar 
sights  to  country  people  by  this  time  of  the  year.  We 
reach  our  hand  through  after  that  •  solitary  dandelion. 
It  is  too  far  off.  All  eager  persons  measure  the  length 
of  their  arm  by  their  eye,  and  will  not  believe  how 
short  it  is,  under  three  or  four  tryings. 

Is  it  stealing  to  take  a  dandelion  through  the  fence  ? 
Then  we  have  made  a  gap  in  the  Commandments  a 
good  many  times.  But  are  ethical  rules  quite  as  rigid 
upon  dandelions  as  upon  ducats  and  dollars  ?  At  any 
rate,  we  have  never  had  remorse  for  pulling  the  first 
dandelion  —  if  we  could  reach  it.  There  is  a  little 
ambition  in  the  matter.  Several  pairs  of  eyes  besides 
our  own  have  a  gentle  rivalry  and  competition  for  the 
first  golden  disc. 

People  watch  us,  and  wonder  what  we  can  be  at. 
Two  or  three  gentlemen,  thinking  there  must  be  some 
thing  important  that  attracts  us,  stop  and  look  over, 
and  seeing  what  it  is,  scarcely  disguise  with  politeness 
their  contempt  for  a  man  hunting  dandelions.  News 
boys  edge  up  familiarly.  "  Wat  ye  lost,  mister  ?  — 
Sha'n't  I  jump  over  and  hunt  it  ?  "  It  needs  no  hunt 
ing,  lad,  —  here  it  shines  in  the  grass  like  a  golden 
eagle  in  a  miser's  eye.  And  as  for  picking  it  for  me, 
that  would  just  take  away  half  the  pleasure.  I  want 
to  feel  the  moist,  cool  stem  with  my  own  fingers,  —  to 
slide  down  the  touch  to  its  very  root,  and  with  the 
nail  gently  to  cut  it,  without  prejudice  to  the  half- 
dozen  buds  that  nestle  there  like  so  many  baby  heads 


296  EYES   AND  EARS. 

in  a  crib.  I  could  reach  it  with  a  stick,  but  that 
would  be  profanation.  A  kind  old  gentleman  passes, 
and  smiles  sympathetically,  as  if  he  would  say,  "  Ah, 
—  I  understand  all  that,  —  I  like  you  a  great  deal 
better  for  your  enthusiasm,"  and  he  passes  on,  him 
self  almost  as  handsome  as  a  dandelion. 

No.  Though  I  reached  at  least  two  inches  farther 
than  before,  I  could  only  just  touch,  but  not  pluck  it ! 
Some  chubby-faced  children  want  to  see  what  it  is, 
and,  a  little  shy  of  me,  stand  at  some  distance,  with 
their  sweet  faces  framed  in  between  the  iron  pickets. 
Yes,  dear  things,  that  is  just  the  way  of  the  world 
into  which  you  have  entered.  Flowers  on  one  side, 
children  on  the  other,  and  iron  fences  between  !  Yet 
you  will  find  some  flowers  on  your  side  of  the  fence 
too  by  and  by,  I  hope. 

I  will  try  a  forked  stick  !  Where  is  there  one  ?  A 
stick  !  —  stones  enough,  dirt  enough,  bricks,  shavings, 
beams,  and  planks.  But  sticks  are  rare  things  in  a 
city.  0,  the  country  is  the  place  to  live  in.  You 
can  always  find  a  stick !  I  am  in  two  troubles.  I 
cannot  get  my  dandelion  without  a  stick,  and  I  can 
not  find  a  stick.  If  I  go  off  for  one,  somebody  will 
get  my  flower! 

Some  school-girls  are  going  past,  —  one,  two,  three, 
four,  five,  the  last  one  silent  and  alone ;  the  rest  like 
a  tree  full  of  birds,  making  a  jargon  of  music,  and 
cross-firing  of  sweet  discordances.  They  look  at  me, 
and  then  at  each  other.  The  creatures  see  the  ludi 
crous  side  of  this  affair !  They  hope  for  me,  and  really 
sympathize,  I  know.  Yet  witches,  they  scarcely  care 
to  hide  their  laughter,  which,  at  half-a-dozen  steps, 
breaks  out  like  water  pent  up  that  has  found  a  new 
channel  to  gurgle  in ! 


THE   DANDELION   AND   I.  297 

Shall  I  climb  this  ailan thus- tree  for  a  stick  ?  I 
would  in  a  minute  if  it  were  only  in  the  country. 
That's  another  objection  to  a  city  life.  Nobody  is 
surprised  in  the  country  to  see  a  man  up  a  tree. 
But  in  a  city,  a  gentlemanly  person  making  his  way 
up  into  a  tree  would  have  a  motley  crowd  around 
him  in  a  jiffy !  (Mr.  Bonner,  can  you  tell  your 
readers,  in  your  column  of  Answers  to  Correspond 
ents,  just  the  measure  of  time  meant  by  "jiffy"?) 
And  no  wonder,  come  to  think  of  it.  The  act  of 
climbing  is  one  of  adroitness  rather  than  of  graceful 
ness.  First,  a  jump  and  a  good  hug  with  the  arms. 
Then,  drawing  up  the  legs,  the  knees  clasp  each  side 
of  the  tree,  the  feet  touching  each  other  at  a  point 
that  would  be  intersected  by  a  line  drawn  through 
the  spine  and  extended.  You  are  in  posture.  You 
resemble  a  frog  drawn  up  for  a  spring,  and  set  up 
endways.  Next,  you  straighten  up  and  raise  your 
arms  a  ring  higher.  Then  holding  fast  by  them,  like 
an  inch-worm,  you  .bring  on  the  other  half.  After 
two  or  three  jerks,  you  will  begin  to  put  one  leg 
around  the  tree,  so  that  the  calf  shall  clasp  the  back 
side  and  the  shin  scrape  itself  on  the  other.  And  as 
you  go  up,  so  do  the  legs  of  your  pantaloons,  which, 
at  ten  feet,  are  corrugated  around  your  knees  in  a 
manner  that  will  give  your  skin  and  the  bark  of  the 
tree  .a  fair  chance  to  see  which  is  toughest.  And 
about  this  time  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  most  men 
begin  to  quirl  their  tongue  out  of  the  corners  of 
their  mouths,  as  if  that  were  a  great  help  to  them. 
Now  I  decline  doing  all  this  in  a  city,  with  police 
men  musing  whether  I  am  to  be  arrested  for  insan 
ity,  and  my  neighbors  laughing,  and  boys  cheering 

13* 


298  EYES   AND   EARS. 

me,  and  sundry  unsavory  jests  broken  on  me,  —  not 
even  for  a  stick  will  I  so  expose  myself.  Cities  are 
hateful.  Nobody  can  do  anything  but  just  walk  up 
and  down  the  streets;  everybody  afraid  that  every 
body  will  laugh  if  anybody  acts  as  he  wants  to !  Ah, 
sweet  herald  of  coming  summer !  there  you  nest  your 
self  in  the  grass,  unconscious  of  all  this  disturbance 
in  my  breast !  The  church  over  opposite,  built  high 
and  grand  of  carved  stone,  with  windows  full  of 
painted  saints,  throws  its  great  shadow  toward  you ; 
but  tell  me,  dear  little  flower,  did  it  ever  say  "  God 
bless  you !  "  to  such  a  useless  thing  of  God's  making 
as  you  ?  Ah,  dandelion,  what  do  you  think  of  those 
saints  in  the  window?  Do  you  hear  or  feel  that 
organ  whose  solemn  tones  jar  the  very  ground  ?  Do 
you  need  priests  and  Sabbaths  and  choirs  to  help 
you  worship  Him  that  made  you  ?  or,  with  sweet-faced 
simplicity,  is  it  needful  for  you  only  to  open  your 
bosom,  and  God  is  praised  by  your  blossoming  beau 
ty  ?  Yet  do  not  deride  the  cathedral,  0  dandelion ! 
Men  need  them,  though  flowers  do  not! 

But  what  shall  I  do  ?  Can  I  not  throw  a  lasso  at 
its  neck,  and  noose  it?  To  be  defeated  now  would 
be  ignominious  indeed  !  Why  not  climb  over  ?  What 
if  I  should  slip  and  get  caught  on  the  top  of  these 
iron  spikes  ?  A  dainty  spectacle  !  If  only  half-way 
over  I  should  be  no  better  oif  than  on  this  side,  and 
certainly  no  better  on. 

Must  I  relinquish  the  thing?  What!  baffled  by 
a  dandelion?  I,  a  freeman,  with  pride  of  faculty, 
touching  the  stars  by  my  reason  and  imagination, 
and  not  able  to  touch  that  dandelion !  No.  Have 
it  I  must ! 

Have  it  I  did! 


ORAL   FARMING.  299 


ORAL    FARMING. 

T  is  now  May  4.  Not  only  has  spring  come, 
but  the  full  farming  spring.  And  as  your 
humble  servant  (as  very  proud  people  call 
themselves)  is  now  a  Peekskill  farmer,  liv 
ing  by  the  sweat  of  his  (hired  workmen's)  brow,  how 
can  you  expect  anything  from  him  except  of  crops,  of 
sorts,  of  fertilizers  ?  Indeed,  sir,  my  grass-lands  look 
remarkably  well,  considering  the  backwardness  of  the 
season.  I  have  rolled  them,  top-dressed  them,  and 
given  them  the  best  advice  in  my  power.  Let  the 
moss  keep  away !  Away  all  thistles  ;  and,  above  all, 
that  thistliest  of  all  thistles,  which  is,  doubtless,  the 
very  one  sent  originally  to  sharpen  Adam,  —  the  Can 
ada-thistle  !  Let  no  dock  come  forth ;  and,  ox-eyed 
daisies,  fair  as  is  your  great  moon  face,  and  beautiful 
as  you  certainly  are  to  unsophisticated  eyes,  a  mowing- 
lot  is  no  place  for  you.  Meantime,  let  the  Timothy 
shoot  up  its  stem,  bearing  a  cat-tailed  head,  only  less 
for  horses  than  oats  themselves  !  Prince  of  all  grasses 
for  fodder,  may  the  season  be  propitious  for  thee ! 
Let  dews  moisten  thy  cat-tailed  head,  and  frequent 
rains  thy  roots,  until  July  comes  riding  to  thee  in  a 
mower.  Then  bow  thy  head,  —  die  as  meekly  as  thou 
hast  gracefully  lived ;  for  is  not  glory  before  thee  ? 
Thy  slender  stem  shall  be  changed  to  horses'  legs  ; 
thy  blades  shall  beam  forth  from  the  mild  eye  of  my 
Alderney ;  thou  shalt  come  forth  white  as  milk,  and 
thence,  yellow  as  butter  or  rich  as  cheese ! 

But  now,  shall  the  mowing-lot  rest?     Is  its  work 


300  EYES  AND  EARS. 

done  ?  Not  if  properly  constructed.  The  Timothy 
will  seldom  give  a  second  growth  worth  cutting.  It 
ought  not  to  be  pastured,  because  cattle  pull  up  the 
tufts  by  the  root.  But  if  a  due  admixture  of  other 
grasses  has  been  made,  no  sooner  is  the  first  crop 
gone  than  four  or  five  other  kinds  of  quick-springing 
grasses  will  come  again ;  and  if  the  soil  be  in  good 
heart,  a  second ;  and  if  irrigated  or  watered  from  a 
cart,  a  third  crop  may  be  cut. 

But  really,  you  will  imagine  that  this  is  a  communi 
cation  from  some  president  of  an  agricultural  society ! 
I  am  not  a  president  of  anything,  —  not  even  a  mem 
ber.  But  you  know  that  I  am  in  the  first  love  of  a 
spring  farming  campaign  !  »  It  is  not  hot  yet.  I  have 
actually  been  working  with  my  own  hands  !  0,  the 
apple-trees  set !  the  pear-trees  —  standards  and  on 
quince  —  that  are  prophesying  to  me  from  the  side  of 
the  hill !  Not  a  leaf  is  on  them  ;  and  yet  I  see  Seck- 
els,  Bartletts,  D'Angoulemes,  and  Rostiezers,  (and  Sir 
Seckel  had  better  look  out  for  its  supremacy  when 
such  pears  as  the  Rostiezer  come  along !)  Will  you 
not  come  up  and  eat  pears  with  me  ?  Not  this  sum 
mer  !  But  when  the  trees  come  into  bearing  !  What 
if  the  engagement  promises  to  be  some  years  hence  ? 
Shall  we  not  both  be  a  little  older,  and  wiser,  and, 
losing  nothing  of  our  relish  for  good  fruit,  shall  we 
not  be  able  to  hold  a  more  grave  and  profitable  con 
versation  while  sitting  on  the  balcony,  eating  ? 

'  But  ah !  the  corn  that  I  intend  having !  I  have 
arranged  to  beat  the  field  over  the  way  all  hollow. 
The  fact  is,  I  quite  look  down  on  the  neighbor  at 
the  foot  of  my  lane.  He  won't  cut  away  the  trees 
in  his  yard  that  hide  from  his  parlor  windows  the 


ORAL  FARMING.  301 

broad  Hudson !  Can  such  a  man  raise  corn  ?  I  have 
moved  my  corn-field  right  down  to  the  road,  so  that 
everybody  can  see  it,  and  especially  the  man  over  the 
way  !  It  will  not  do  for  people  that  wish  to  thrive  to 
lie  awake  mornings,  looking  out  of  their  windows  at 
woodchucks.  Good  corn  can  be  had  at  Peekskill 
only  by  enterprise  and  industry.  Now  I  have  made 
an  arrangement  with  my  conductor,  that  if  this  crop 
of  corn  succeeds,  it  is  to  be  my  cultivation  ;  but  if  it 
turns  out  indifferently,  is  to  be  his  work.  May  cut 
worms  spare  it !  May  all  these  loads  of  benevolence- 
to-grain,  hauled  with  so  much  trouble  and  expense, 
lie  low  through  the  summer,  under  the  roots,  but 
shoot  their  vigor  up  the  stem  to  the  very  tasselled 
top  !  Let  no  drouth  come  before  mid- August,  and 
then  corn  will  laugh  at  it,  and  shake  its  jolly  head 
in  defiance.  Shall  I  insert  along  the  rows  a  few  of 
those  round-bellied  pumpkins,  —  the  genuine,  old- 
fashioned  Yankee  pumpkins  ?  Some  say  not,  and 
some  say,  do.  I  hesitate.  Ought  the  same  soil 
to  feed  two  crops  at  the  same  time  ?  And  yet,  how 
quaint  and  pleasant,  in  autumn,  as  the  blades  of 
corn  grow  russet,  are  the  yellow  orbs  that  shine  out ! 
What  instant  thoughts  do  they  suggest  to  the  passer 
by  of  pumpkin-pies,  of  Thanksgiving  days,  of  old  New 
England  homes !  But  I  must  close,  and  it  shall  be 
with  a  story. 

Good  old  Dr.  Bigger  (we  will  call  him)  was  a 
Baptist  preacher  in  Indiana,  and  never  liked  to  have 
any  one  beat  him  in  telling  a  round,  full-proportioned 
story.  A  wag  seeing  him  coming  down  the  street, 
said  to  his  cronies  :  "  Now  I  mean  to  stump  that  old 
gentleman."  So,  on  his  approach,  he  says  :  "  Doctor, 


302 


EYES   AND   EARS. 


I  really  wish  you  had  seen  a  piece  of  land  I  have 
on  White  River.  I  planted  corn  and  pumpkins  on 
five  acres,  and  when  I  cut  off  the  corn,  the  pumpkins 
were  so  thick  along  the  ground,  that  I  could  step 
from  one  to  another  across  the  whole  field  !  "  The 
Doctor,  nothing  loath,  drew  up,  and,  eying  him  a 
moment,  broke  forth  :  "  Why,  sir,  that  was  very  well, 
but  /  had  a  ten-acre  field  this  fall  on  which  the 
pumpkins  lay  so  close  to  each  other  that  when  I 
stood  at  one  corner,  and  hit  one  pumpkin  with  my 
foot,  it  jarred  the  whole  ten  acres  !  "  Can  anybody 
around  Peekskill  raise  better  pumpkins  than  that  ? 


DKY    FISHING. 

DEAR  MR.  BONNER:  Allow  me  to  invite 
you  to  go  with  me  a  dry-fishing.  What  is 
dry-fishing?  Not  one  in  a  water-tight 
boat ;  nor  on  high-bank  streams ;  nor  on 
white,  dry  gravel  along  the  edges  of  pools.  I  prac 
tise  it  in  this  wise.  If  you  will  come  with  me,  you 
shall  have  your  share.  Let  us  go  into  Conroy's. 
Now  don't  strike  out  that  name  for  fear  the  LEDGER 
will  be  thought  advertising  his  establishment.  I  wish 
the  name  to  stand.  I  repeat  it,  for  I  have  many  asso 
ciations  of  pleasant  hours  there.  Come,  then,  with 
me  to  Conroy's.  A  modest  front!  Only  a  net,  a 
decoy  duck,  a  few  cane-poles,  and  some  other  fishing- 
stuff,  to  hint  to  you  that  April  has  come,  and  that 
every  honest  man  is  expected  to  do  his  duty.  Enter. 


DRY   FISHING.  803 

Behold  a  long  room,  stocked  on  either  side  with 
things  innumerable,  needless  and  necessary  for  the 
practice  of  the  royal  art !  On  the  right  stand  rows 
of  trouting-rods,  the  best  in  their  cases  with  the  lower 
end  of  the  cloth  rolled  up,  like  a  boy's  trousers  in 
summer,  revealing  the  polished  brass  or  German-sil 
ver  ferules  and  joints.  Ah,  what  do  you  see  ?  Only 
those  cloth  cases,  and  the  half-concealed  trouting- 
rods  ?  But  I  see  more.  I  see  a  boy,  fresh,  ruddy, 
unperverted,  brave-hearted.  If  rude,  only  so  from 
a  frank,  honest  way  of  forethinking  nothing  for  de 
ceit.  Him  the  benign  father  has  promised  on  his 
thirteenth  birthday  a  real  Conroy's  rod.  He  has 
dreamed  of  it.  At  length  the  day  comes.  It  is  his. 
The  reel,  the  silk  line,  the  fine  leading  lines,  the 
hooks,  the  cunning  flies,  the  basket,  all  are  his !  See 
the  lad  walk  out  into  the  street.  Nobody  can  give 
him  anything  now !  What  are  princes  ?  Who  are 
kings  ?  Boys,  undoubtedly.  They  are  the  only 
royal  persons.  Kings  in  empire,  all  the  air  and  all 
the  earth  are  theirs  for  enjoying !  Kings  without 
crowns  or  cares,  they  !  He  walks  the  street  home 
ward,  pitying  beggar-boys  that  have  no  fathers  to 
give  them  fishing-rods !  He  pities  merchants  and 
bankers  that,  having  money,  lack  sense  to  buy  rods 
and  lines !  He  walks  into  the  house  before  the  ad 
miring  family,  to  display  his  treasures !  I  see  him 
in  the  country.  It  is  scarce  four  in  the  morning, 
but  he  is  up.  The  east  is  beginning  ta  turn  white 
and  red.  He  is  off  for  the  brook.  It  comes  down 
from  the  far  hills,  and  winds  its  way  silently  with 
many  a  twist  and  turn  in  the  meadows.  Ah,  glori 
ous  morning  on  the  meadows !  Sleep  on,  lazy  folks 


304  EYES   AND   EARS. 

yet  in  bed ;  God  reserves  these  royalties  of  toe  morn 
ing  for  honest  work-folk  that  rise  early,  for  birds  that 
never  sing  as  they  do  before  sunrise,  and  for  bold, 
truth-loving  boys,  that  forswear  sleep  and  forget  food, 
that  they  may  wind  through  these  meadows  in  the 
light  of  sunrise !  The  rod  is  put  together,  the  reel 
in  place,  the  long  line  flashes  in  the  air  like  a  spider's 
thread,  the  daintiest  bit  of  a  fly  at  the  end  of  it,  por 
tends  mischief.  My  dear  boy,  tread  softly.  The 
very  weight  of  your  free  foot  will  impart  a  jar  to  the 
earth  that  trout  understand.  The  wise  ones  are 
always  large  and  fat  and  shy.  Give  the  grass  a  pres 
sure,  but  not  a  stroke  with  your  foot.  There.  See 
the  light  flash  in  that  water  at  the  turn.  Something 
is  tickling  it,  for  see  the  ripples  that  smile  over  its 
face.  .  Then  the  boy  makes  his  first  cast.  He  poises 
himself.  Measures  the  distance.  Dexterously  swing 
ing  the  long  lash,  he  puts  the  fly  pat  upon  the  very 
spot.  Another  ripple  flashes  up.  Our  boy  slings 
back  the  line,  with  a  bright  fellow  shining  and  shiv 
ering  through  air,  and  flung  a  dozen  rods  behind 
him,  where  he  flounces  and  squirms,  vainly  endeav 
oring  to  swim  in  the  wet  grass !  Excuse  the  over- 
eager  twitch.  The  boy  is  nervous  yet.  He  will 
sober  down  to  his  work,  for  lie  must  fish  a  full  two 
hours  here,  clear  up  to  that  bridge,  up  past  that 
gaunt  tree  that  is  dead  all  but  one  branch,  which 
holds  a  few  leaves  in  its  hands  like  a  pocket-hand 
kerchief,  and  up  to  the  alder-thicket.  By  that  time 
his  basket  will  be  full  and  his  stomach  empty,  of 
which  facts  he  will  be  more  and  more  conscious  at 
every  step  as  he  goes  home.  But  who  comes  ?  The 
sun  is  driving  its  flocks  up  the  mountain-side,  which 


DRY  FISHING.  305 

we  should  take  to  be  mists,  did  we  not  know  that 
those  hills  are  the  sun-pastures  for  aerial  breeds  of 
unsheared  sheep,  that  feed  of  nights  and  are  driven 
home  of  days !  But  come  back,  Mr.  Bormer,  to  the 
store.  In  this  glass  case  see  the  nameless  traps  and 
fixings  for  all  manner  of  uses !  Here  are  flasks, 
leather-covered.  I  never  could  imagine  why  it  was 
necessary  to  cover  flasks  so  elaborately  for  the  pur 
pose  of  carrying  milk.  Do  you  suppose  that  water 
is  cooler  or  milk  sweeter  for  it !  But  here,  too,  are 
eating  arrangements  for  picnics,  drinking-cups,  and 
all  manner  of  things  that  lift  up  before  our  eyes  the 
vision  of  summer  woods,  of  bonnets  laid  off,  of  merry, 
laughing  people,  among  rocks  and  trees,  by  the  side 
of  a  clear,  bubbling  spring,  where  youth  and  beauty 
spend  a  joyous  hour ! 

Those  spear-heads,  too,  —  fish-spears.  Did  you  ever 
go  a  suckering  at  night,  Mr.  Bonner?  Then  you 
have  something  good  before  you  yet.  We  will  have 
a  burning  torch  in  one  hand,  our  spear  in  the  other, 
and  enter  on  a  good  wide,  but  not  too  deep  river, 
about  eight  or  nine  at  night.  Begin  below,  and  work 
your  way  up.  You  are  dressed  for  wetting.  Now 
step  cautiously  along,  searching  by  your  light  for 
fish,  which  you  shall  see  soon  moving  as  in  a  dream, 
down  below  the  water,  along  the  stones,  or  pausing 
upon  a  few  gravel  spots,  their  mouths  playing  with 
a  sucking  motion,  as  if  the  whole  stream  were  their 
mother,  and  they  were  feeding  at  the  breast.  These 
are  true  philosophers!  How  coolly  they  take  life. 
No  newspapers  disturb  their  tranquillity.  They  sow 
not,  nor  reap.  Plough  and  sickle  are  unknown  below 
the  water.  No  washing-days  have  they,  nor  hanging 


306  EYES  AND   EARS. 

out  of  clothes  to  dry !  No  dust  in  their  eyes,  unless 
some  impertinent  mill  lets  sawdust  into  the  stream ! 
No  insects  buzz  about  them,  neither  do  flies  nor  mos- 
quitos  annoy  their  sleep.  Their  beds  are  always 
ready,  their  raiment  is  always  clean  without  washing, 
they  spread  no  table  and  wash  up  no  dishes.  Combs 
are  a  superfluity.  Books  are  never  dry  down  where 
the  fish  live !  Happy  people !  Your  caudal  fin  is 
better  than  Ericsson's  propeller  up  stream,  and  down 
stream  the  river  itself  bears  you  without  toil.  If  I  were 
a  fish,  I  think  I  should  take  up  a  travelling  business. 
But  we  must  attend  to  duty.  There  is  a  call  for  that 
fish  right  under  you !  With  a  dull  grating  sound, 
down  comes  your  transfixing  spear,  and  he  is  fast  in 
the  middle,  and  very  lively  at  both  ends.  Invert 
your  spear.  Basket  him.  And  as  you  look  up  at  the 
lifted  spear,  see  the  overhanging  trees  above  you. 
No  man  knows  what  fairy  trees  are,  until  he  has  stood 
a,t  night  underneath  them,  with  a  strong  light  cast  up 
into  them  from  below.  Stand  a  moment.  There 
are  oaks  and  chestnuts,  vast  and  wide  outstretching. 
Their  roots  drink  here  a  full  supply.  Are  not  these 
fairy  bowers  ?  A  breath  of  wind  moves  the  leaves. 
They  dance  in  the  green  twilight,  up  there,  like 
sylphs.  A  moving  leaf  lets  through  a  star,  and 
another,  as  if  diamonds  hung  in  the  tree.  Out  on 
either  bank  the  air  is  dark.  The  stream  gurgles  and 
plashes  about  your  feet.  The  torchlit  tree  overhead, 
the  somnolent  twilights  down  under  water,  all  be 
witch  you  from  your  work,  and  set  you  a  fishing 
for  other  things  than  suckers.  Your  companions  are 
shouting  for  you.  No  such  romance  detains  them. 
They  have  caught  ten  fish  to  your  one.  But  will 


APPLE-TREES  IN   LOVE.  307 

your  basket  reveal  all  that  you  have  caught?  But, 
Mr.  Bonner,  I  put  my  hand  on  your  shoulder  and 
give  you  a  shake.  See.  We  have  not  been  out  of 
the  store  at  all.  This  has  all  been  Dry  Fishing! 
There  is  much  more  besides.  There  are  shark-hooks, 
there  are  sea-gaffs,  there  are  nets,  all  manner  of 
lines,  of  cords.  I  could  take  you  a  Dry  Fishing 
to  Newfoundland  Banks,  away  up  to  Labrador,  or 
on  the  Thousand  Islands,  or  the  St.  Lawrence,  or 
along  the  weirs  and  herring  of  Eastport  and  Lubeck. 
But  I  forbear,  lest  some  say  that,  if  dry  fishing  is  no 
better  than  dry  writing,  the  less  there  is  of  it  the 
better! 


APPLE-TREES    IN    LOVE. 

makes  no  difference  that  you  have  seen 
forty  or  fifty  springs ;  each  one  is  as  new, 
every  process  as  fresh,  and  the  charm  as 
fascinating  as  if  you  had  never  witnessed  a 
single  one.  Nature  works  the  same  things  without 
seeming  repetition.  There,  for  instance,  is  the  apple- 
tree.  Every  year  since  our  boyhood  it  has  been 
doing  the  same  thing;  standing  low  to  the  ground, 
with  a  round  and  homely  head,  without  an  element 
of  grandeur  or  poetry,  except  once  a  year.  In  the 
month  of  May,  apple-trees  go  a  courting.  Love  is 
evermore  father  of  poetry.  And  the  month  of  May 
finds  the  orchard  no  longer  a  plain,  sober,  business 
affair,  but  the  gayest  and  most  radiant  frolicker  of  the 
year.  We  have  seen  human  creatures  whose  ordinary 


308  EYES  AND  EARS. 

life  was  dutiful  and  prosaic.  But  when  some  extraor 
dinary  excitement  of  grief,  or,  more  likely,  of  deep 
love,  had  thoroughly  mastered  them,  they  broke  forth 
into  a  richness  of  feeling,  an  inspiration  of  sentiment, 
that  mounted  up  into  the  very  kingdom  of  beauty, 
and  for  the  transient  hour  they  glowed  with  the  very 
elements  of  poetry.  And  so  to  us  seems  an  apple- 
tree.  From  June  to  May,  it  is  a  homely,  duty-per 
forming,  sober,  matter-of-fact  tree.  But  May  seems 
to  stir  up  a  love  heat  in  its  veins.  The  old  round- 
topped,  crooked-tr unked,  and  ungainly-bough ed  fel 
low  drops  all  world-ways,  and  takes  to  itself  a  new 
idea  of  life.  Those  little  stubbed  spurs,  that,  all  the 
year,  had  seemed  like  rheumatic  fingers,  or  thumbs 
and  fingers  stiffened  and  stubbed  by  work,  now  are 
transformed.  Forth  put  they  a  little  head  of  buds, 
which  a  few  rains  and  days  of  encouraging  warmth 
solicit  to  a  cluster  of  blossoms.  At  first  rosy  and 
pink,  then  opening  purely  white.  And  now,  where 
is  your  old  homely  tree  ?  All  its  crookedness  is  hid 
den  by  the  sheets  of  blossoms.  The  whole  top  is 
changed  to  a  royal  dome.  The  literal,  fruit-bearing 
tree  is  transfigured,  and  glows  with  raiment  whiter 
and  purer  than  any  white  linen.  It  is  a  marvel  and  a 
glory  !  What  if  you  have  seen  it  before,  ten  thousand 
times  over  ?  An  apple-tree  in  full  blossom  is  like  a 
message,  sent  fresh  from  heaven  to  earth,  of  purity 
and  beauty !  We  walk  around  it  reverently  and  ad 
miringly.  We  are  never  tired  of  looking  at  its  profu 
sion.  Homely  as  it  ordinarily  is,  yet  now  it  speaks  of 
the  munificence  of  God  better  than  any  other  tree. 
The  oak  proclaims  strength  and  rugged  simplicity. 
The  hickory  grown  in  open  fields  speaks  a  language 


APPLE-TREES   IN   LOVE.  309 

of  gentility.  The  pine  is  a  solitary,  stately  fellow. 
Even  in  forests,  each  tree  seems  alone,  and  has  a  sad, 
Castilian-like  pride.  The  elm  is  a  prince.  Grace  and 
glory  are  upon  its  head.  In  our  Northern  fields  it  has 
no  peer.  But  none  of  these  speak  such  thoughts  of 
abundance,  such  prodigal  and  munificent  richness, 
such  lavish,  unsparing  generosity,  as  this  same  plain 
and  homely  apple-tree.  The  very  glory  of  God  seems 
resting  upon  it!  It  is  a  little  inverted  hemisphere, 
like  that  above  it,  and  it  daily  mimics  with  bud  and 
bloom  the  stars  that  nightly  blossom  out  into  the  dark 
ness  above  it.  Though  its  hour  of  glory  is  short,  into 
it  is  concentrated  a  magnificence  which  puts  all  the 
more  stately  trees  into  the  background !  If  men  will 
not  admire,  insects  and  birds  will ! 

There,  on  the  very  topmost  twig,  that  rises  and  falls 
with  willowy  motion,  sits  that  ridiculous  but  sweet- 
singing  bobolink,  singing,  as  a  Roman-candle  fizzes, 
showers  of  sparkling  notes.  If  you  stand  at  noon 
under  the  tree,  you  are  in  a  very  bee-hive.  The  tree 
is  musical.  The  blossoms  seem,  for  a  wonder,  to  have 
a  voice !  The  odor  is  not  a  rank  atmosphere  of  sweet. 
Like  the  cups  from  which  it  is  poured,  it  is  delicate 
and  modest.  You  feel  as  if  there  were  a  timidity  in 
it,  that  asked  your  sympathy  and  yielded  to  solicita 
tion.  You  do  not  take  it  whether  you  will  or  not, 
but,  though  it  is  abundant,  you  follow  it  rather  than 
find  it. 

Is  not  this  gentle  reserve,  that  yields  to  real  admi 
ration,  but  hovers  aloof  from  coarse  or  cold  indiffer 
ence,  a  beautiful  trait  in  woman  or  apple-tree  ? 

But  was  there  ever  such  a  spring  ?  Did  orchards 
ever  before  praise  God  with  such  choral  colors  ?  The 


310  EYES   AND   EARS. 

whole  landscape  is  aglow  with  orchard-radiance.  The 
hill-sides,  the  valleys,  the  fields,  are  full  of  blossoming 
trees.  The  pear  and  cherry  have  shed  their  blossoms. 
The  ground  is  white  as  snow  with  their  flakes.  But 
it  is  the  high  noon  just  now,  on  this  eighteenth  day 
of  May,  with  the  apple-trees !  Let  other  trees  boast 
their  superiority  in  other  months.  But  in  the  month 
of  May,  the  very  flower-month  of  the  year,  the  crown 
and  glory  of  all  is  the  apple-tree ! 

Therefore,  in  my  calendar,  hereafter,  I  do  ordain 
that  the  name  of  this  month  be  changed.  Instead  of 
May,  let  it  henceforth  be  called  in  my  kingdom,  "  TJie 
Month  of  the  Apple-Blossom." 


GENIUS    AND    INDUSTRY. 

NDUSTRY  is  a  substitute  for  genius.  Where 
one  or  more  faculties  exist  in  the  highest 
state  of  development  and  activity,  —  as  the 
faculty  of  music  in  Mozart,  invention  in 
Fulton,  ideality  in  Milton,  —  we  call  the  possessor 
a  genius.  But  a  genius  is  usually  understood  to  be 
a  creature  of  such  rare  facility  of  mind,  that  he  can 
do  anything  without  labor.  According  to  the  popu 
lar  notion,  he  learns  without  study,  and  knows  with 
out  learning.  He  is  eloquent,  without  preparation  ; 
exact,  without  calculation ;  and  profound,  without 
reflection.  While  ordinary  men  toil  for  knowledge 
by  reading,  by  comparison,  and  by  minute  research, 
a  genius  is  supposed  to  receive  it  as  the  mind  re- 


GENIUS  AND  INDUSTRY.  311 

ceives  dreams.  His  mind  is  like  a  vast  cathedral, 
through  whose  colored  windows  the  sunlight  streams, 
painting  the  aisles  with  the  varied  colors  of  brilliant 
pictures.  Such  minds  may  exist. 

So  far  as  I  have  observed  the  species,  they  abound 
in  academies,  colleges,  and  Thespian  societies ;  in 
village  debating-clubs,  in  coteries  of  young  artists, 
and  among  young  professional  aspirants.  They  are 
to  be  known  by  a  reserved  air,  excessive  sensitive 
ness,  and  utter  indolence ;  by  very  long  hair,  and 
very  open  shirt-collars ;  by  the  reading  of  much 
wretched  poetry,  and  the  writing  of  much  yet  more 
wretched ;  by  being  very  conceited,  very  affected, 
very  disagreeable,  and  very  useless:  beings  whom 
no  man  wants  for  friend,  pupil,  or  companion. 

The  occupations  of  the  great  man  and  of  the  com 
mon  man  are  necessarily,  for  the  most  part,  the 
same ;  for  the  business  of  life  is  made  up  of  minute 
affairs,  requiring  only  judgment  and  diligence.  A 
high  order  of  intellect  is  required  for  the  discovery 
and  defence  of  truth ;  but  this  is  an  unfrequent  task. 
Where  the  ordinary  wants  of  life  once  require  rec 
ondite  principles,  they  will  need  the  application  of 
familiar  truths  a  thousand  times.  Those  who  en 
large  the  bounds  of  knowledge  must  push  out  with 
bold  adventure  beyond  the  common  walks  of  men. 
But  only  few  pioneers  are  needed  for  the  largest 
armies,  and  a  few  profound  men  in  each  occupation 
may  herald  the  advance  of  all  the  business  of  society. 
The  vast  bulk  of  men  are  required  to  discharge  the 
homely  duties  of  life ;  and  they  have  less  need  of 
genius  than  of  intellectual  industry  and  patient  en 
terprise.  Young  men  should  observe  that  those  who 


312  EYES  AND   EARS. 

take  the  honors  and  emoluments  of  mechanical  crafts, 
of  commerce,  and  of  professional  life,  are  rather  dis 
tinguished  for  a  sound  judgment  and  a  close  appli 
cation,  than  for  a  brilliant  genius.  In  the  ordinary 
business  of  life,  industry  can  do  anything  which 
genius  can  do,  and  very  many  things  which  it  can 
not.  Genius  is  usually  impatient  of  application,  irri 
table,  scornful  of  men's  dulness,  squeamish  at  petty 
disgusts ;  —  it  loves  a  conspicuous  place,  a  short 
work,  and  a  large  reward  ;  it  loathes  the  sweat  of 
toil,  the  vexations  of  life,  and  the  dull  burden  of 
care. 

Industry  has  a  firmer  muscle,  is  less  annoyed  by 
delays  and  repulses,  and,  like  water,  bends  itself  to 
the  shape  of  the  soil  over  which  it  flows ;  and  if 
checked,  will  not  rest,  but  accumulates,  and  mines 
a  passage  beneath,  or  seeks  a  side-race,  or  rises  above 
and  overflows  the  obstruction.  What  genius  per 
forms  at  one  impulse,  industry  gains  by  a  succession 
of  blows.  In  ordinary  matters,  they  differ  only  in 
rapidity  of  execution,  and  are  upon  one  level  before 
men,  who  see  the  result,  but  not  the  process.  It  is 
admirable  to  know  that  those  things  which  in  skill, 
in  art,  and  in  learning  the  world  has  been  unwilling 
to  let  die,  have  not  only  been  the  conceptions  of 
genius,  but  the  products  of  toil.  The  masterpieces 
of  antiquity,  as  well  in  literature  as  in  art,  are  known 
to  have  received  their  extreme  finish  from  an  almost 
incredible  continuance  of  labor  upon  them.  I  do 
not  remember  a  book  in  all  the  departments  of  learn 
ing,  nor  a  scrap  in  literature,  nor  a  work  in  all  the 
schools  of  art,  from  which  its  author  has  derived  a 
permanent  renown,  that  is  not  known  to  have  been 


NEW   CLOTHES.  313 

long  and  patiently  elaborated.  Genius  needs  indus 
try,  as  much  as  industry  needs  genius.  If  only  Mil 
ton's  imagination  could  have  conceived  his  visions, 
his  consummate  industry  only  could  have  carved  the 
immortal  lines  which  enshrine  them.  If  only  New 
ton's  mind  could  reach  out  to  the  secrets  of  Nature, 
even  his  could  only  do  it  by  the  homeliest  toil.  The 
works  of  Bacon  are  not  midsummer-night  dreams, 
but,  like  coral  islands,  they  have  risen  from  the 
depths  of  truth,  and  formed  their  broad  surfaces 
above  the  ocean  by  the  minutest  accretions  of  perse 
vering  labor.  The  conceptions  of  Michael  Angelo's 
genius  would  have  perished  like  a  night's  fantasy, 
had  not  his  industry  given  them  permanence. 


NEW    CLOTHES. 

RE  not  clothes  an  evidence  of  sin,  and  a  pen 
alty  therefor  ?  When  one  considers  the 
care,  labor,  mental  trouble,  and  various  de 
grees  of  discipline  connected  with  clothing, 
it  seems  strange  that  it  should  not  have  been  arranged 
for  men  as  for  birds  and  animals.  What  a  large  part 
of  human  industry  is  employed  in  the  manufacture  of 
fabrics ;  how  great  the  number  of  persons  who  spend 
their  lives  in  cutting,  fitting,  sewing,  and  otherwise 
preparing  dress !  Then,  too,  the  time  which  every 
one  of  us  must  consume  in  thinking  of  dress ;  select 
ing  and  arranging;  and  the  daily  consumption  of 
time  in  robing  and  disrobing !  All  this  care  and  ex- 

14 


314  EYES   AND   EARS. 

pense  is  spared  to  birds  and  beasts.  It  is  said  that 
they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin  !  So  neither  do 
they  weave,  cut,  or  sew!  They  have  no  buttons  to 
put  on,  or  grumble  about  when  they  come  off! 

There  are  my  ducks :  they  have  the  most  compact 
dressing-case  ever  invented.  Do  they  wish  to  eat,  — 
the  bill  is  employed ;  do  they  wish  to  carve  and  cut 
their  food,  —  the  bill  is  case-knife,  or  carving-knife, 
and  fork  to  boot !  Do  they  wish  to  dress  cloth,  —  the 
bill  is  better  than  teasels  are !  Would  they  brush, 
their  coat  and  pantaloons,  —  behold  !  the  bill  is  brush 
too.  Would  they  prepare  themselves  with  a  mack 
intosh,  or  india-rubber  garment,  against  water  and 
weather,  —  the  bill  goes  to  work,  and,  from  a  little 
private  arrangement  of  their  own,  extracts  the  wet- 
repelling  oil,  and  lays  it  on  evenly  all  over  their  coat. 
Would  they  brush  their  hair,  polish  their  boots, — 
again  comes  this  facile  instrument-of-all-work,  the 
bill,  and  dusts  the  one  and  rubs  down  the  other. 
Then,  with  inimitable  simplicity,  this  important  mem 
ber  turns  to  the  dinner,  and  becomes,  indeed,  a  bill  of 
fare  and  food.  How  much  would  human  life  be  sim 
plified  by  some  such  arrangement ! 

There,  too,  is  my  friend  the  bobolink !  He  steps 
off  his  perch  in  the  morning,  finds  a  wash-basin  in  the 
dew  on  a  head  of  clover,  and  makes  his  toilet  with 
flowers  for  a  looking-glass.  He  sings  awhile,  brushes 
his  hair,  sings  again,  takes  a  bite  of  breakfast,  and 
eats,  sings,  and  brushes,  without  fastidious  suggestions 
of  a  ridiculous  propriety. 

My  cows,  too,  have  a  very  economical  method  of 
arranging  their  wardrobe.  It  is  a  wonderful  conven 
ience  to  have  your  clothes  grow  on  you.  In  fact,  a 


NEW   CLOTHES.  315 

cow  is  preparing  a  coat  and  vest  in  the  mere  act  of 
eating !  Since  hair  and  skin  are  formed  from  secre 
tions,  and  these  are  supplied  to  the  blood  by  digestion 
of  food,  the  stomach  turns  out  to  be  a  great  cloth 
manufactory.  And  while  a  cow,  lying  down  at  even 
ing  under  a  tree,  seems  the  very  picture  of  quiet, 
chewing  her  cud  with  half-shut  eyes,  she  is,  in  fact, 
getting  ready  her  clothes  ! 

Only  man  is  doomed  to  spend  a  large  portion  of  his 
time  in  providing  the  materials  and  making  prepara 
tion  of  his  clothes.  How  odd  it  would  seem  to  see  a 
robin  pull  off  its  feather  coat  at  night,  and  prepare  for 
retiring ! 

How  much  stranger  still,  if  respectable  men  had 
their  clothes  formed  upon  them  !  and  vests,  panta 
loons,  coats,  secreted  from  their  food!  If  a  button 
flew  off,  lo,  a  button  germ  would  at  once  begin  to 
swell  and  grow  !  If  a  seam  ripped,  or  some  unlucky 
contact  tore  a  hole,  the  parts  would  throw  out  new 
matter  for  repairs,  and  bridge  over  the  gulf.  Alas ! 
it  is  vain  to  repine  or  speculate  upon  the  probable 
convenience  of  a  different  arrangement.  Here  we 
are,  just  as  we  are  !  And  sheep  and  flax  and  cotton 
must  give  us  staple  ;  we  must  dye,  spin,  and  weave ; 
measure  and  cut,  fit  and  sew,  put  on  and  wear  out, 
cast  off  and  renew,  to  the  end  of  the  world.  But  one 
thing  ought  to  be  done.  Every  one  who  has  made 
luxury  a  study,  knows  that  the  worst  period  of  dress 
is  when  it  is  new.  A  new  hat  creases  and  hurts  your 
head.  A  new  boot  fevers  your  foot.  And  though 
new  clothes  may  fit  you  like  a  skin,  yet  because  they 
are  new,  you  are  conscious  of  them.  You  are  afraid 
to  sit  down  then,  lest  the  new  clothes  should  be  soiled. 


316  EYES   AND   EARS. 

Your  coat  must  not  be  rubbed.  At  every  step  life  has 
to  serve  your  new  clothes.  This  may  do  for  Sunday. 
The  greater  leisure  of  that  day  gives  unoccupied 
minds  a  welcome  business  in  taking  care  of  their 
clothes.  And  so  we  see  men  animating  the  centre  of 
a  well-arranged  suit  of  clothes,  and  carrying  them, 
with  great  care  and  painstaking,  so  that  they  are  ex 
hibited  to  the  fairest  advantage  ! 

But  to  those  who  are  a  little  nervous  this  first  ser 
vice  in  behalf  of  new  clothes  is  annoying.  We  are 
never  really  happy  till  new  clothes  are  broken  in. 
Then  we  are  their  master;  before,  they  were  ours! 
Now,  would  it  not  be  as  well  to  have  new  clothes  old 
at  the  start  ?  Counterfeiters  are  said  to  put  new  bills 
into  their  boots  and  walk  upon  them,  to  give  that  worn 
and  crumpled  look  that  shall  resemble  well-circulated, 
lawful  bills.  Why  should  we  not  have  clothes  crum 
pled  a  little,  and  worn  for  us,  as  a  part  of  their  prep 
aration  ?  In  short,  as  we  have  oxen  trained  before  we 
buy  them ;  as  we  have  horses  broken  and  drilled,  so 
clothes  ought  to  be  broken  in.  Then  we  should  have 
the  luxury  of  an  old  coat,  from  the  beginning !  Then 
boots  and  shoes  would  embrace  our  feet,  not  as  stran 
gers,  with  cold  formalities,  but  with  that  negligent 
ease  of  care  which  belongs  to  established  friendships. 
But  I  barely  make  the  suggestion.  To  others  must 
be  left  the  carrying  out  of  a  thing  so  important ! 


WORMS.  317 


WORMS. 

YEAR  with  but  eleven  months  must  be 
lame.  Yet  Brooklyn  has  but  eleven  in  her 
calendar.  June  is  lost  out.  Eaten  up! 
Worm-eaten !  The  fairest  month  of  the 
year  is  June.  Summer  has  not  dried  her  soil,  nor 
scorched  the  grass  or  leaves.  They  are  in  the  earli 
est  growth,  —  fresh,  plump,  and  succulent.  The  air 
is  tempered  between  extremes.  It  is  the  rose  month, 
the  lily  month,  the  month  of  early  flowers.  And  yet 
June  is  lost  to  us  by  the  irruption  and  devastations 
of  worms.  It  ought  to  be  named  the  Vermicular 
month !  The  trees  are  stripped  of  their  leaves,  the 
air  is  full  of  webs,  the  pavement  is  covered  witli 
crushed  or  crawling  worms,  and,  floating  upon  their 
silvery  threads,  worms  so  fill  the  space  between  trees 
and  sidewalk,  that  one  cannot  pass  under  without 
carrying  with  him  a  retinue  of  worms !  The  air  is 
full  of  their  odor,  the  walks  are  slippery  with  them. 
It  is  amusing  to  witness  the  various  methods  of 
locomotion  and  escape  practised  by  those  who  are  not 
yet  hardened  to  this  warfare.  Ladies  may  be  seen 
walking  in  the  middle  of  the  streets,  or  walking  a 
zigzag  course,  now  poking  their  parasols  at  some 
invisible  enemy  in  the  air,  or  dodging  and  winding 
around  hither  and  thither  ;  stopping  occasionally  to 
take  account  of  stock  and  deposit  superfluous  addi 
tions  to  the  wardrobe.  Some,  more  nervous,  on  being 
enwebbed  under  some  tree,  utter  gentle  shrieks,  and 
we  have  seen  not  a  few  turn  back,  and  make  a  cir- 


318  EYES  AND  EARS. 

cuit  of  several  blocks,  rather  than  face  these  pen 
dants  of  the  trees!  See  that  fair  lady  advancing 
serene  and  secure.  With  an  earnest  look  she  sud 
denly  stops,  glides  to  the  right,  only  to  recede  yet 
more  quickly.  But  forward,  backward,  right  or  left, 
up  or  down,  it  is  all  the  same.  The  tree  is  a  vast 
tent,  and  once  beneath  it,  it  matters  little  which 
course  you  take ! 

Individually,  a  worm  is  insignificant.  But  col 
lectively,  they  defy  a  whole  city.  They  are  easily 
crushed,  undefended,  with  no  power  of  escape,  uni 
versally  detested,  and  yet  they  are  invincible,  and 
man,  if  not  crushed,  is  defeated  before  the  worm. 

The  greatest  forces  are  made  up  of  units  of  weak 
ness.  An  engineer  can  pierce  and  tunnel  solid  moun 
tains,  build  roads  on  the  precipitous  sides  of  cliffs, 
bridge  floods,  and  rear  up  against  the  very  ocean 
barriers  which  defy  tide  and  storm.  But  a  locust, 
a  rat,  a  worm,  an  insect,  simply  by  fecundity,  is  more 
powerful  against  skill,  science,  and  every  enginery, 
than  the  lightning  or  the  floods  of  the  sea.  The 
wire-worm  takes  possession  of  the  fields,  and  the 
farmer  is  in  his  power.  The  fly  attacks  the  wheat, 
and  no  force  can  hinder  his  devastation.  Your 
plum-trees  may  be  planted  around  your  house,  and 
within  reach  of  daily  observation  and  protection,  and 
yet,  in  spite  of  every  precaution,  the  insignificant 
brown-coated  Curculio  will  use  every  green  plum  for 
a  nest  for  his  baby-bugs,  and  then  kick  them  off  the 
tree  before  your  angry  eyes. 

The  Oriental  hosts  of  Locusts  are  famous  in  his 
tory  and  in  literature.  Indeed,  some  of  the  most 
sublime  passages  of  the  prophets  in  the  sacred  Scrip- 


WORMS.  319 

tures  are  those  which  describe  the  coming,  progress, 
and  desolation  of  locust  swarms.  A  single  example 
shall  show.  It  is  from  Joel :  — 

"  A  day  of  darkness  and  of  gloominess,  a  day  of 
clouds  and  of  thick  darkness,  as  the  morning  spread 
upon  the  mountains :  a  great  people  and  a  strong ; 
there  hath  not  been  ever  the  like,  neither  shall  be 
any  more  after  it,  even  to  the  years  of  many  genera 
tions.  A  fire  devoureth  before  them ;  and  behind 
them  a  flame  burneth:  the  land  is  as  the  garden  of 
Eden  before  them,  and  behind  them  a  desolate  wil 
derness  ;  yea,  and  nothing  shall  escape  them.  The 
appearance  of  them  is  as  the  appearance  of  horses ; 
and  as  horsemen,  so  shall  they  run.  Like  the  noise 
of  chariots  on  the  tops  of  mountains  shall  they  leap, 
like  the  noise  of  a  flame  of  fire  that  devoureth  the 
stubble,  as  a  strong  people  set  in  battle  array.  Be 
fore  their  face  the  people  shall  be  much  pained :  all 
faces  shall  gather  blackness.  They  shall  run  like 
mighty  men ;  they  shall  climb  the  Vail  like  men  of 
war;  and  they  shall  march  every  one  011  his  ways, 
and  they  shall  not  break  their  ranks ;  neither  shall 
one  thrust  another :  they  shall  walk  every  one  in 
his  path;  and  when  they  fall  upon  the  sword,  they 
shall  not  be  wounded.  They  shall  run  to  and  fro  in 
the  city ;  they  shall  run  upon  the  wall,  they  shall 
climb  up  upon  the  houses ;  they  shall  enter  in  at 
the  windows  like  a  thief.  The  earth  shall  quake 
before  them ;  the  heavens  shall  tremble ;  the  sun 
and  the  moon  shall  be  dark,  and  the  stars  shall  with 
draw  their  shining :  and  the  Lord  shall  utter  his  voice 
before  his  army ;  for  his  camp  is  very  great ;  for  he 
is  strong  that  executeth  his  word ;  for  the  day  of 


320  EYES  AND  EARS. 

the  Lord   is  great  and  very  terrible ;   and  who  can 
abide  it?" 

But  to  return  to  the  beginning  of  these  remarks, 
it  is  not  all,  and  altogether  an  annoyance.  There 
is  an  element  of  the  ludicrous  attached  to  this  annual 
incursion  of  worms.  Every  man's  first  duty  on  com 
ing  into  the  house  is  to  be  picked.  Among  the  kind 
offices  of  the  church,  the  assembly  room,  is  that  of 
devermicularization. 

Unconscious  beauty  sits  tranquil,  while  a  vast 
worm  is  looping  itself  on  the  bonnet,  another  is  navi 
gating  the  shores  of  the  lace  collar,  and  several  are 
apparently  following"  the  steps  of  illustrious  search 
ers  for  the  poles. 

On  the  whole,  children  set  the  best  example.  As 
a  fair  young  mother  was  walking  the  other  morning, 
she  heard  her  little  girl,  not  old  enough  to  speak 
plainly,  expressing  her  trouble :  "  I  have  lost  my 
worm."  She  carried  one  in  her  hand  as  a  pet,  and 
mourned  its  loss. 

If  we  were  educated  to  look  upon  things  with  eyet 
of  philosophy,  how  much  annoyance  we  might  escape ! 
Is  a  gas-pipe  repairing  in  the  street  ?  So  soon  as  we 
know  that  the  insufferable  stench  is  sulphuretted 
hydrogen,  it  has  a  scientific  smell  much  more  endur 
able.  If  one  will  resolve  noisome  elements  and  dis 
gustful  odors  into  some  chemical  form,  and  regard 
them  in  their  relations  to  the  great  economics  of 
nature,  it  will  aid  their  patience. 

Nevertheless,  after  considering  worms  in  the  light 
of  entomology,  of  benevolence,  of  utility,  together 
with  all  manner  of  illustrations  from  literature  and 
history,  we  are  constrained  to  admit  that  we  are  so 


PLEASUEE-EIDING.  321 

far  uneducated  as  to  regard  their  presence  with  some 
displacency,  and  to  contemplate  the  early  completion 
of  their  summer  pilgrimage  with  an  entire  resigna 
tion.  Meantime,  our  blessings  on  the  ailan thus- tree  ! 
Let  no  man  revile  its  odor,  next  month,  without 
remembering  that  it  was  a  bulwark  against  worms. 
Nothing  can  eat  ailanthus, —  nothing,  we  mean,  ex 
cept  a  well-practised  tobacco-chewer.  He  could  eat 
anything. 


PLEASURE-RIDING. 

T  is  astonishing  how  much  pains  people 
will  take  to  be  not-happy.  Great  sums  of 
money  are  spent  on  disconsolate  hearts, 
empty  heads,  restless,  nervous  indolents,  — 
to  make  them  happy.  But,  unless  there  is  the  quality 
of  happiness  in  them,  it  is  as  vain  as  to  beat  upon  lead 
in  hope  of  music.  How  much  money  is  lavished  upon 
horses  and  splendid  equipages,  and  how  many  sunny 
hours  are  witnesses  of  the  unhappy  creatures  who 
affect  happiness  in  their  ostentatious  parade  !  If  the 
heart  be  merry,  it  bubbles  up  and  overflows  with  en 
joyment  without  an  effort.  Did  you  ever  take  notice 
that  unarranged  and- unexpected  rides,  uncouth  and 
even  ridiculous,  are  productive  of  more  real  enjoy 
ment  than  the  best  that  are  sought  and  expected  ? 

Fix  up  your  boys,  and  get  out  your  best  carriage, 
and  take  a  regular  ride,  and  ten  to  one  next  time  you 
offer  the  chance  they  will  say  no.  But  when  did  a 
boy  ever  refuse  a  ride  in  an  ox-cart?  When  did  a 

14*  u 


322  EYES  AND  EARS. 

boy  ever  decline  a  ride  to  mill,  on  creaking  cart,  but 
above  all,  astride  the  plump  bags  of  grain  on  horse 
back?  Away  with  your  fine  turn-outs  for  sensible 
boys  !  A  lumber-wagon,  an  old  cart,  a  stone  dray, 
are  better  than  any  chariot.  If  a  big  brother  or  a 
kind  "  hired  man  "  will  give  the  boys  a  turn  in  a 
wheelbarrow,  that  will  be  superlative.  There  is  an 
indescribable  relish,  too,  in  a  pair  of  wheels,  with  two 
boys  hitched  on  before,  and  one  upon  the  bare  axle- 
tree,  occupied  alternately  in  tumbling  off  and  getting 
on.  But  who  shall  tell  or  imagine  the  satisfaction  of 
riding  upon  a  jack  or  jenny  ?  It  is  plain  that  these 
creatures  were  created  with  special  reference  to  boys' 
wants.  They  are  tough,  insensitive  to  the  whip,  self- 
opinionated,  and  in  no  danger  whatever  of  being 
abused  ;  having  a  way  of  using  their  heels  and  mouth 
that  promotes  humanity  among  boys.  If  the  boys  do 
not  enjoy  the  exercise,  every  spectator  does.  The 
jenny  on  our  premises  is  something  larger  than  a  rat, 
and  of  the  same  color.  She  goes  where  she  has  a 
mind  to,  stops  when  she  pleases,  throws  the  boys  off 
when  she  is  tired  of  them,  turns  around  when  they 
forbid,  starts  when  they  say,  "Whoa!"  and  stops  when 
they  say,  "  Go  'long !"  A  whip  seems  agreeable  to  her 
hide,  rather  than  otherwise.  She  is  so  short  that  a 
moderate  boy  has  to  hold  up  his  feet  in  riding  ;  and 
of  course,  in  falling  off,  he  has  not  so  far  to  go  as  if 
on  his  own  feet.  It  is  amusing  to  see  what  an  amount 
of  work  can  be  got  out  of  a  boy,  for  nothing,  which 
would  be  considered  a  great  hardship  if  applied  to 
good  uses.  All  the  toil  of  riding  Jenny  applied  to 
the  garden  would  make  almost  a  man's  work  for  the 
day  ! 


PLEASURE-RIDING.  323 

But  we  have  reserved  for  the  last  the  grand,  tri 
umphal  ride  !  When  the  cart  has  been  stacked  with 
sheaves,  or  loaded  with  hay,  and  towers  high  in  the 
air,  then  let  the  importunate  boy  be  lifted  to  its  top, 
and  come  home  embosomed  in  clover  and  fragrant 
hay !  No  king  has  such  triumphant  entrances  into 
rejoicing  cities  as  boys  have  into  barns,  upon  the 
broad  backs  of  hay-carts  !  It  makes  one  quite  melan 
choly  to  see  how  much  money  is  spent  upon  unhappy 
people  to  make  them  discontented !  Strip  off  their 
gentility,  send  them  into  the  country,  give  them  a 
plain  cart,  an  ox-sled,  or  a  harvest-wagon,  and  they 
will  have  sensations  of  pleasure  long  strangers  to 
them !  Ah,  Mr.  Bonner,  vainly  do  you  drive  forth 
behind  the  magnificent  Lantern  and  mate,  —  flying 
through  the  air  as  if  two  stars  whisked  you  at  astro 
nomical  velocities!  The  thing  may  be  well  enough 
in  its  .way.  But  when  you  have  tired  of  this,  I  have 
in  reserve  for  you  a  crowning  joy  !  You  shall  mount 
my  hay-cart ;  and  drawn  by  my  oxen,  —  upon  a 
springing  load,  softer  than  stuffed  cushion  or  cunning 
springs,  more  fragrant  than  the  gardens  of  the  Orient, 
you  shall  be  seen  with  radiant  face,  coming  up  the 
field,  for  once  a  perfectly  happy  man  ! 


§24  EYES  AND  EARS. 


SUMMER    RAIN. 

EN  begin  to  look  at  the  signs  of  weather. 
It  is  long  since  much  rain  fell.  The  ground 
is  a  little  dry,  the  road  is  a  good  deal  dusty. 
The  garden  bakes.  Transplanted  trees  are 
thirsty.  Wheels  are  shrinking  and  tires  are  looking 
dangerous.  Men  speculate  on  the  clouds  ;  they  begin 
to  calculate  how  long  it  will  be,  if  no  rain  falls,  before 
the  potatoes  will  suffer ;  the  oats,  the  corn,  the  grass, 
—  everything  !  To  be  sure,  nothing  is  yet  suffering  ; 
but  then  — 

Rain,  rain,  rain!  All  day,  all  night  steady  rain 
ing.  Will  it  never  stop  ?  The  hay  is  out,  and  spoil 
ing.  The  rain  washes  the  garden.  The  ground  is 
full.  All  things  have  drunk  their  fill.  The  springs 
revive,  the  meadows  are  wet;  the  rivers  run  dis 
colored  with  soil  from  every  hill.  Smoking  cattle 
reek  under  the  sheds.  Hens,  and  fowl  in  general, 
shelter  and  plume.  The  sky  is  leaden.  The  clouds 
are  full  yet.  The  long  fleece  covers  the  mountains. 
The  hills  are  capped  in  white.  The  air  is  full  of 
moisture.  Rain,  rain,  rain !  The  wind  roars  down 
the  chimney.  The  birds  are  silent.  No  insects  chirp. 
Closets  smell  mouldy.  The  barometer  is  dogged. 
We  thump  it,  but  it  will  not  get  up.  It  seems  to 
have  an  understanding  with  the  weather.  The  trees 
drip,  shoes  are  muddy,  carriage  and  wagon  are 
splashed  with  dirt.  Paths  are  soft.  So  it  is.  When 
it  is  clear  we  want  rain,  and  when  it  rains  we  wish  it 
would  shine.  But,  after  all,  how  lucky  for  grumblers 


SUMMER  RAIN.  325 

that  they  are  not  allowed  to  meddle  with  the  weather, 
and  that  it  is  put  above  their  reach  ?  What  a  scram 
bling,  selfish,  mischief-making  time  we  should  have, 
if  men  undertook  to  parcel  out  the  seasons  and  the 
weather  according  to  their  several  humors  or  in 
terests  ! 

But  if  one  will  but  look  for  enjoyment,  how  much 
there  is  in  every  change  of  weather.  The  formation 
of  clouds,  —  the  various  signs  and  signals,  the  un 
certain  wheeling  and  marching  of  the  fleecy  cohorts, 
the  shades  of  light  and  gray  in  the  broken  heav 
ens, —  all  have  their  pleasure  to  an  observant  eye. 
Then  come  the  wind-gust,  the  distant,  dark  cloud, 
the  occasional  fiery  streak  shot  down  through  it, 
the  run  and  hurry  of  men  whose  work  may  suffer  ! 
Indeed,  sir,  your  humble  servant,  even,  was  stirred 
up  on  the  day  after  "  Fourth  of  July."  The  grass 
in  the  old  orchard  was  not  my  best.  Indeed,  we 
grumbled  at  it  considerably  while  it  was  yet  stand 
ing.  But  being  cut  and  the  rain  threatening  it,  one 
would  have  thought  it  gold,  by  the  nimble  way  in 
which  we  tried  to  save  it! 

Blessed  be  horse-rakes !  Once  half  a  dozen  men, 
with  half  a  dozen  rakes,  would  have  gone  whisking 
up  and  down,  thrusting  out  and  pulling  in  the  long- 
handled  rake,  with  slow  and  laborious  progress.  But 
no  more  of  that.  See  friend  Turner,  mounted  on 
the  wheeled  horse-rake,  riding  about  as  if  for  pleas 
ure.  Up  go  the  steel  teeth  and  drop  their  collected 
load,  down  go  his  feet,  and  the  teeth  are  at  work 
again ;  and  at  every  ten  or  fifteen  feet,  the  winrow 
forms.  It  is  easy  times  when  men  ride  and  horses 
rake !  No  more  hand-rakes,  and  no  more  revolving- 
horse-rakes ! 


EYES  AND  EARS. 

Meanwhile,  the  clouds  come  bowling  noiselessly 
through  the  air,  and  spit  here  and  there  a  drop 
preliminary.  But  the  hay  is  cocked,  the  sides  dressed 
down,  and  all  is  ready  —  except  the  hay-covers ! 
Alas  for  our  negligence !  The  manufacturers  had 
offered  to  send  us  some  for  trial,  and  we  had  for 
gotten  to  say,  Send  them  along!  And  now,  with 
our  hay  out  and  the  rain  coming,  we  mourned  our 
carelessness.  With  good  hay-covers,  our  two  dozen 
little  hay-cocks  would  have  been  as  snug  as  if  in 
the  barn.  Well,  if  one  tiling  suffers,  another  gains ! 
See  how  the  leaves  are  washed,  the  grass  drinks,  corn 
drinks,  the  garden  drinks,  everything  drinks.  It  's 
our  opinion  that  everything  except  man  is  laughing 
and  rejoicing.  Trees  shake  their  leaves  with  a  softer 
sound.  Rocks  look  moist  and  soft,  at  least  where 
the  moss  grows.  Even  the  solitary  old  pine-tree 
chords  his  harp,  and  sings  soft  and  low  melodies  with 
plaintive  undulations !  A  good  summer  storm  is  a 
rain  of  riches.  If  gold  and  silver  rattled  down  from 
the  clouds,  they  would  hardly  enrich  the  land  so 
much  as  soft,  long  rains.  Every  drop  is  silver  going 
to  the  mint.  The  roots  are  machinery,  and,  catching 
the  willing  drops,  they  assay  them,  refine  them,  roll 
them,  stamp  them,  and  turn  them  out  coined  berries, 
apples,  grains,  and  grasses !  When  the  heavens  send 
clouds,  and  they  bank  up  the  horizon,  be  sure  they 
have  hidden  gold  in  them.  All  the  mountains  of 
California  are  not  so  rich  as  are  the  soft  mines  of 
Heaven,  that  send  down  treasures  upon  man  without 
tasking  him,  and  pour  riches  upon  his  field  without 
spade  or  pickaxe,  —  without  his  search  or  notice. 
Well,  let  it  rain,  then !  No  matter  if  the  journey 


MY   TWO   FRIENDS.  327 

is  delayed,  the  picnic  spoiled,  the  visit  adjourned. 
Blessed  be  rain  —  and  rain  in  summer!  And  blessed 
be  He  who  watereth  the  earth,  and  enricheth  it  for 
man  and  beast ! 


MY    TWO    FRIENDS. 

HAVE  two  friends  whose  habits  illustrate 
two  opposite  principles.  Both  are  ladies. 
Both  have  received  the  advantage  of  early 
education,  and  have  moved  in  good  society. 
The  one  is  of  a  slender  form,  elegantly  made,  of 
exquisite  taste  in  dress,  and  with  a  rare  sense  of  pro 
priety  in  all  matters.  There  are  few  that  would 
venture  to  wear  the  articles  that  she  sometimes  will, 
yet  with  unerringly  perfect  judgment.  It  is  scarcely 
right  to  call  it  judgment,  since  that  implies  a  process 
of  deliberation.  But  in  her  case  it  seems  rather  an 
intuition.  Like  a  bird,  she  seems  to  wear  gay  plu 
mage  unconsciously  ;  as  if  it  grew  upon  her.  She  is 
always  dignified,  and'  yet  leaves  the  impression  of 
always  smiling  upon  you  graciously.  This  is  not  that 
prepared  smile  of  good  society  which,  after  a  little, 
leaves  a  kind  of  threadbare  kindness  on  the  face,  a 
seedy,  lustreless  smile.  It  is  rather  the  shining  out 
of  unaffected  kindness.  If  she  meet  you  at  church,  in 
the  street,  at  a  party  or  concert,  or  in  her  own  house, 
you  feel  that  you  have  been  shone  upon. 

This  does  not  result  from  that  easy  temper  that  can 
not  help  itself,  nor  from  a  moral  constitution  that 
has  feeble  discriminations  and  preferences.  On  the 


328  EYES  AND  EARS. 

contrary,  there  are  few  persons  more  clear  and  posi 
tive  in  their  likes  and  dislikes,  and  with  better 
grounds.  She  is  herself  a  person  of  truth,  of  fidelity, 
of  honor.  The  want  of  these  qualities  in  others  acts 
upon  her  as  a  discord.  She  is  not  warped  by  her 
general  kindliness  to  compromise  her  clear  percep 
tion  and  calm  judgment  of  what  is  right  or  wrCng  in 
the  slightest  degree.  She  is  remarkably  considerate, 
within  her  own  thoughts,  of  the  grounds  of  conduct 
and  character  in  others,  and  is  apt  to  be  almost  judi 
cial  in  her  deliberations  about  them. 

But  —  and  here  is  the  element  for  which  I  have 
drawn  this  outline  —  meeting  those  whom  she  does 
not  like,  whose  conduct  she  condemns,  there  is 
toward  them  a  quiet,  cheerful  politeness,  that  conceals 
her  repugnance,  that  confers  happiness,  that  leaves 
them  quite  ignorant  of  the  gravity  of  her  moral  dis 
sent.  She  seems  to  say,  within  herself,  and  I  suspect 
this  is  about  her  own  way  of  reasoning  about  it,  — 
"  This  person  seems  to  me  both  wrong  and  disagree 
able.  But  he  is  a  human  being.  As  such  I  owe  a 
debt  of  kindness  to  him.  I  must  not,  by  word  or  act, 
approve  the  evil.  But  within  that  limit  I  am  bound 
to  confer  innocent  happiness.  The  law  of  conscience 
does  not  exonerate  me  from  the  duties  of  benevo 
lence.  So  long,  therefore,  as  we  meet  only  in  gen 
eral  society,  and  I  am  not  called  to  sit  in  judgment, 
my  only  business  is  to  treat  such  a  one  as  if  I  wished 
him  well,  and  would  contribute  my  share  of  making 
him  happy." 

I  confess  that  I  see  nothing  in  this  that  is  not  just 
and  Christian.  It  cannot  be  charged  with  insincerity. 
Every  one  is  to  feel  and  express  kindness,  even  when 


MY   TWO   FRIENDS.  329 

exercising  the  functions  of  conscience,  and  much 
more  under  circumstances  that  call  for  the  expres 
sion  of  no  moral  judgments. 

I  have  another  friend.  She  also  has  excellent  taste. 
She  is  wise  in  selection  of  colors  and  in  forms.  I 
have  never  known  her  to  wear  a  discordant  article. 
And  yet,  such  is  the  strength  of  her  character  and 
the  energy  of  her  nature,  that  one  seldom  thinks 
what  she  wears.  The  predominant  impression  which 
she  leaves  upon  you  is  of  character,  and  not  of  cos 
tume.  You  do  not  remember  her  presence  as  of 
a  sweet  bird,  but  rather  with  that  awe  which  you 
have  while  standing  before  an  eagle.  You  respect 
her.  You  might  revere  her.  You  would  hardly 
think  of  offering  her  help,  though  you  might  homage. 

This  lady,  too,  has  the  most  clear  and  positive 
opinions  about  those  whom  she  meets.  She  likes  no 
one,  but  loves  many.  She  seldom  dislikes  any,  but 
she  abhors  many.  The  doors  of  her  heart  are  quite 
royal.  Those  who  find  them  open  are  like  a  queen's 
guests,  and  are  entertained  with  a  very  sovereignty 
of  kindness.  For  their  sakes  upon  whom  she  shines 
there  can  be  no  service  too  sacrificing,  no  deeds  too 
onerous,  no  patience  in  their  troubles  too  long-con 
tinuing. 

To  others  those  doors  are  like  the  portcullis  of  a 
king's  castle  in  time  of  war.  She  will  have  no  par 
ley.  They  shall  not  come  in. 

There  is  seldom  a  doubt  in  any  person's  mind  as 
to  the  ground  they  stand  on.  She  makes  people  feel 
that  she  does  not  love  them,  nor  like  them,  nor  even 
tolerate  them.  She  would  not  speak  to  them  if  she 
could  help  it.  She  has  always  seemed  to  me  like 


330  EYES   AND   EARS. 

some  very  noble  hills  that  1  have  seen,  whose  ap 
proach  on  one  side  is  easy,  gradual,  full  of  graceful 
lines,  charming  shrubs,  and  fine  trees,  but,  on  reach 
ing  the  summit,  the  other  side  was  a  perpendicular 
cliff.  For  her  friends  she  is  a  continuous  garden, 
for  her  not-friends  a  precipice. 

If  she  were  to  be  expostulated  with  upon  her  reso 
lute  way  of  meeting  disagreeable  people,  she  would 
probably  answer,  "  I  do  not  think  it  honest  to  make 
people  think  that  I  like  them  when  I  do  not.  I  can 
not  reconcile  it  to  my  conscience,  to  play  a  part." 
Thus  it  is  a  duty  which  she  feels  bound  upon  her  to 
let  people  understand  that  they  are  no  favorites. 

Is  there,  then,  a  judicial  duty  laid  upon  us,  as 
members  of  society,  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  each 
other,  and  to  execute  the  sentence  of  our  disappro 
bation  ?  May,  or  may  not,  a  person  make  those 
cheerful  and  happy  by  personal  graciousness  whom 
one  for  many  reasons  condemns  inwardly  ?  Where 
is  Addison  ?  Where  is  Steele  ?  Where  is  Dr.  John 
son?  I  desire  to  lay  before  them  this  question, — 
Ought  not  a  person's  face,  like  God's  sun,  to  shine 
kindly  upon  the  just  and  the  unjust  ? 


EMBODIED  JOKES.  331 


EMBODIED    JOKES. 

AS  not  Nature  an  element  of  the  ludicrous 
in  it?  Are  there  no  creations  which  may 
be  regarded  as  mere  quizzical  oddities? 
What  else  can  you  make  of  the  world- 
renowned  Jack?  Can  any  man  look  into  his  face 
without  an  irresistible  temptation  to  laughter?  Was 
ever  anything  more  expressly  made  to  be  grotesque 
than  a  toad?  What  thing  of  all  the  barbarous  in 
ventions  in  Chinese  pictures  can  surpass  it  in  ridic 
ulousness?  Did  you  ever  attentively  study  toad  life 
and  manners  ?  You  might  do  worse.  At  evening, 
when  they  begin  to  feel  the  inspiration  of  an  evening 
meal,  you  shall  find  them  awkwardly  alert,  and  very 
entertaining.  Their  squat  forms  and  ungainly  move 
ments,  the  very  decorous  and  earnest  sobriety  with 
which  they  carry  themselves,  the  peculiar  wink  with 
which  they  seem  to  intimate  to  you  that  they  are 
keeping  up  a  good  deal  more  thinking  inside  than 
you  might  suppose,  their  imperturbable  and  unex- 
citable  passivity,  produce  a  comical  result  hardly 
equalled  by  any  clown. 

The  bat  is  another  jest  in  natural  history.  Its 
flight  is  the  only  redeeming  feature  of  its  ungracious 
form  and  manner.  Even  that  has  a  capriciousness  in 
it  that  savors  of  gambolling.  Its  voice  is  a  squeak, 
its  mouth  a  burlesque  upon  humanity. 

The  monkey  has  been  set  apart  for  ridiculousness 
the  world  over.  He  is  an  organized  sarcasm  upon 
the  human  race,  with  variations  multitudinous. 


332  EYES  AND  EARS. 

But  among  insects,  and  among  beetles  especially, 
are  found  forms  so  singular,  and  manners  so  queer, 
that  we  never  pass  them  without  stopping  to  look ; 
and  we  never  look  without  a  sense  of  the  ludicrous. 

But  who  ever  saw,  on  land  or  in  water,  a  crab,  or 
a  lobster,  without  being  struck  with  their  comicality ! 
If  these  things  address  themselves  to  a  feeling  of  the 
ludicrous  in  our  minds,  is  it  extravagant  to  suppose 
that  they  sprung  from  some  such  thought  in  the 
Creative  Mind  ?  It  seems  no  more  strange  that  God 
should  create  objects  for  mirth  in  the  world,  than 
that  he  should  have  placed  the  faculty  of  mirthful- 
ness  in  the  human  mind.  Is  any  faculty  without 
provision  for  its  enjoyment?  Is  it  not  rather  to  be 
supposed  that,  both  in  the  vegetable  and  the  animal 
kingdom,  there  are  forms  and  processes  which  will 
never  be  fully  appreciated  until  their  relations  to 
the  feeling  of  mirth  is  recognized  ?  We  do  not  know 
that  laughing  philosophers  are  desirable :  philoso 
phers  who  do  not  know  how  to  laugh  are  still  less 
likely  to  be  complete. 

It  is  sometimes  thought  that  there  are  no  qualities 
of  mirthfulness  in  nature ;  that  it  is  purely  in  the 
mind  of  those  who  imagine  it.  Doubtless  it  is  the 
mind  that  experiences  the  emotion ;  but  so  it  is  of 
color,  of  form,  of  grace.  And  these  qualities  will 
abound  to  those  who  are  sensitive  to  their  presence, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  will  seem  rare  to  those  less 
admirably  endowed.  But  no  one,  on  that  account, 
supposes  that  color  is  imaginary,  —  that  there  is  no 
provision  for  it  in  nature.  And  because  only  the 
mirthful  easily  appreciate  the  ludicrousness  of  many 
parts  of  animated  creation,  it  does  not  any  more  fol- 


CHANGES.  338 

low  that  the  oddity  is  subjective,  depending  merely 
upon  the  observer,  and  not  in  the  designed  and  real 
nature  of  things. 


CHANGES. 

UR  days  are  a  kaleidoscope.  Every  instant 
a  change  takes  place  in  the  contents.  New 
harmonies,  new  contrasts,  new  combinations 
of  every  sort.  Nothing  ever  happens  twice 
alike.  The  most  familiar  people  stand  each  moment 
in  some  new  relation  to  each  other,  to  their  work,  to 
surrounding  objects.  The  most  tranquil  house,  with 
the  most  serene  inhabitants,  living  upon  the  utmost 
regularity  of  system,  is  yet  exemplifying  infinite  diver 
sities.  And  much  more  is  the  vexed  and  agitated 
flow  of  society  but  an  ever  changing,  ever  new  com 
plexity  !  The  most  familiar  scenes  are  full  of  novelty 
to  one  who  has  an  eye  to  see  it ! 

But  we  are  dozing,  stupid,  unobserving.  We  pass 
along  in  a  waking  dream.  We  look  without  seeing. 
'We  listen  without  hearing.  Birds  flit  among  the 
trees,  a  fly  lights  upon  the  page  before  us,  and 
throws  his  thin  shadow  over  the  next  word.  An 
other  comes  to  meet  him,  they  meet  with  an  enthu 
siastic  buzz  of  satisfaction,  and  whirl  off  into  the  air 
with  a  delirium  of  gladness.  We  only  brush  at  the 
intruder.  The  grass  is  twinkling  with  innumerous 
gems  of  dew.  Every  motion  of  your  head  is  a  new 
glory  upon  its  shadow.  The  wind  that  just  breathes 
around  the  corner,  and  shakes  it,  seems  to  come  on 
purpose  to  show  you  the  wreath  of  simple  beauty ! 


334  EYES  AND  EARS. 

The  shadows  all  day  long  play  at  silent  games  of 
beauty.  Everything  is  double,  if  it  stands  in  light. 
The  tree  sees  an  unrevealed  and  muffled  self  lying 
darkly  along  the  ground.  The  slender  stems  of  flow 
ers,  golden-rod,  wayside  asters,  meadow  daisies,  and 
rare  lilies  (rare  and  yet  abundant,  in  every  level 
meadow),  cast  forth  a  dim  and  tremulous  line  of 
shadow,  that  lies  long  all  the  morning,  shortening  till 
noon,  and  creeping  out  again  from  the  root  all  the 
afternoon,  until  the  sun  shoots  it  as  far  eastward  in 
the  evening  as  the  sun  shot  it  westward  in  the  morn 
ing.  A  million  shadowy  arrows  such  as  these  spring 
from  Apollo's  golden  bow  of  light  at  every  step.  Fly 
ing  in  every  direction,  they  cross,  interlacing  each 
other  in  a  soft  network  of  dim  lines. 

Meanwhile  the  clouds  drop  shadow-like  anchors, 
that  reach  the  ground,  but  will  not  hold  ;  every  brows 
ing  creature,  every  flitting  bird,  every  moving  team, 
every  unconscious  traveller,  writes  itself  along  the 
ground  in  dim  shadow. 

Nor  are  sounds  less  numerous,  changing,  and  novel. 
At  no  instant,  if  one  gives  his  mind  to  it,  is  there 
stillness  or  sameness.  As  I  sit  by  my  window,  a  door 
sounds,  the  gate  rattles,  a  man's  foot  crackles  on  the 
gravel,  a  fly  buzzes  round  my  head,  a  song-sparrow 
sings  sweet  in  yonder  apple-tree,  a  whiplash  cuts 
sharply  through  the  air,  a  boy  halloos  at  the  team, 
another  boy  turns  the  rustling  paper,  and  sings  a 
snatch  of  song  over  and  over  with  intolerable  itera 
tion,  —  a  rooster  crows,  a  bee  hums  under  the  win 
dow,  saying  grace  before  proceeding  to  breakfast. 
Now  comes  a  lull.  I  listen  for  silence.  No.  A  calf 
calls  out  for  its  mother,  another  answers  it.  A  far-off 


CHANGES.  385 

rooster  crows,  and  sets  off  a  dozen  more  in  various 
directions !  The  train  roars  with  softened  sound  from 
the  distance.  New  birds  are  discoursing:  a  plank 
falls  down  with  resounding  clap.  A  robin  calls  out, 
"  What 's  that  ?  "  The  kingbird  sings  with  a  jolly 
noise,  that  sounds  like  a  rich  man  shaking  his  pocket 
full  of  silver.  The  pigs  are  up  and  at  it.  An  old 
hen  is  reading  a  barnyard  homily  to  her  unobservant 
attendants.  Down  goes  a  load  of  stones  with  a  mis 
cellaneous  clash  and  rattle.  The  barnyard  wooden- 
latched  gate  has  a  blunt  snap.  A  chipping-bird  flies 
down  to  a  crumb '  of  bread  with  a  simple  troll  of  ex 
quisite  notes.  A  wagon  rolls  along  the  road.  A  voice 
from  the  hill-side  beyond  comes  soft  and  mellow  hith- 
erward.  Should  I  write  till  the  sun  goes  down,  at 
every  instant  some  new  or  changing  sound  would  be 
recorded.  And  yet  in  the  great  room  of  Nature 
nothing  is  discordant,  if  we  only  are  in  tune.  All 
harsh  and  grating  noises,  all  low  piping,  all  crack  and 
crash,  all  piercing  calls  or  bird  warblings,  all  rustling- 
sounds  of  leaves  or  dress,  all  slammings,  rippings, 
jinglings,  shouts,  every  plash  and  creak,  are  harmoni 
ous  parts  of  one  great  orchestra,  and  when  mingled  in 
the  multitude,  they  seem  to  wear  each  other  smooth, 
so  that  the  general  hum  of  evening  or  the  sharper 
sounds  of  noon  fall  upon  the  ear  with  a  sense  of  har 
mony  ! 

The  endless  variety  and  harmony  of  forms,  the 
inexhaustible  wealth  of  colors,  the  by-play  of  animal 
and  insect  life,  the  movements  and  industries  of  men, 
in  the  midst  of  this  gorgeously  decorated  earth,  these 
all  fill  up  the  tube  and  make  each  day  but  a  rolling 
kaleidoscope,  each  moment  brilliant  with  some  new 
combination. 


336  EYES  AND  EARS. 

But  few  witness  this  perpetual  wonder.  The  world 
is  dull  and  life  is  tame  to  most  men.  Nothing  has 
merit  which  does  not  in  some  way  address  the  appe 
tite,  the  feverish  desires.  Men  are  sotted  with  vul 
gar  business.  Nothing  seems  worthy  that  has  not 
some  relation  to  them.  This  egotism  punishes  it 
self.  It  separates  between  the  soul  and  God's  mu 
nificent  provision  for  its  satisfaction.  We  live  in 
a  palace,  and  call  it  dull.  We  have  every  delight 
for  the  senses,  and  yawn  with  ennui !  We  have 
myriad  servants,  each  with  some  minute  fidelity,  yet 
we  are  always  unserved !  If  one  could  but  hold  up 
the  innumerable  events  of  each  hour  in  the  golden 
light,  —  if  the  world  were  to  them  God's  book,  and 
each  day  an  opening  leaf,  and  every  event  a  rev 
elation, —  no  one  would  need  to  search  for  pleasure. 
To  those  who  have  susceptibility,  an  appreciation  of 
things  beautiful  simply  because  they  fall  from  the 
hand  of  God,  and  are  significant  of  his  taste  or  feel 
ing,  there  is  an  unwasting  satisfaction,  placed  beyond 
the  contingencies  of  human  affairs.  When  I  am  a 
bankrupt,  and  my  creditor  takes  my  property,  he 
shall  have  the  house,  the  ground,  the  furniture,  the 
things  on  which  men  lay  tax ;  but  I  shall  laugh  at 
him  if  he  thinks  he  has  touched  my  properties! 
Above  my  roof  are  finer  pictures  than  are  under  it. 
In  the  trees  and  along  the  meadows  I  have  winged 
instruments  which  a  sheriff  will  hardly  catch!  Clouds 
are  better  property  than  lies  hidden  in  the  veins  of 
the  hills  over  which  they  cast  their  solemn  shadows ! 
My  fancy  is  a  plough  that  turns  better  furrows  than 
the  best  inventor's,  and  sows  the  open  soil  of  air 
with  harvests  more  abundant  than  all  that  store  the 


DEIVING   FAST   HORSES   FAST.  337 

barns  of  the  world.  And  these  treasures  for  the 
finer  senses  are  without  cares,  without  envy,  without 
taxes.  Storms  do  not  damage,  and  fires  do  not  burn 
them.  They  never  waste,  they  change  only  to  grow 
better.  They  are  young  with  my  youth,  young  in 
my  manhood,  and  young  in  age ! 


DRIVING    FAST    HORSES    FAST. 

]Y  DEAR  MR.  BONNER  :  You  once  promised 
me  a  ride  with  your  never-to-be-excelled 
horses,  aud  to-day  is  the  very  day  for  it. 
The  sky  is  clear.  It  is  a  long  while  since 
we  have  had  high,  bright,  clear  days.  They  have 
been  sad  and  cloudy.  Sometimes  snow,  sometimes 
rain,  sometimes  a  miserable  compromise  between 
both.  But  to-day  is  of  one  mind,  and  that  a  good 
mind.  Nature  is  in  her  sweet  and  grand  mood.  It 
is  the  first  day  on  which  she  has  cared  to  have  it 
known  that  her  mind  was  made  up  to  have  spring 
weather.  The  secret  is  out  now.  Snow  is  melting. 
I  saw  grass  with  fresh  growth  of  green  this  very 
morning.  No  birds  yet.  But  the  grass  said  birds  as 
plainly  as  if  it  had  spoken  English.  They  cannot  be 
far  off. 

Is  not  this  a  day  for  a  ride  ?  No  mud  yet.  The 
road  is  hard  and  moist.  Just  the  kind  for  a  spin. 
For  I  do  not  want  any  of  your  lazy,  jogging  gaits.  1 
am  entirely  of  your  mind,  that,  if  a  horse  has  had 
swiftness  put  in  him,  it  is  fair  to  give  him  a  chance 

15  v 


338  EYES  AND   EARS. 

to  develop  his  gifts.  Of  course  there  is  a  bound. 
Reason  in  all  things.  Even  in  trotting,  it  is  easier 
and  pleasanter  for  some  horses  to  go  twelve  miles  an 
hour  than  for  others  to  go  three.  They  were  made 
so.  Does  it  hurt  a  swallow  to  go  swifter  than  an  ox  ? 
Why  not  ?  Because  he  was  made  so.  It  is  easy  to 
do  the  thing  we  were  made  to  do  easily.  And  a  good 
horse  was  made  on  purpose  to  go  fast.  He  does  it 
when  wild  of  his  own  accord.  He  does  not  lose  the 
relish  of  speed,  even  when  domesticated. 

Take  a  fine-fed  horse,  who  in  harness  looks  as  if 
he  were  a  pattern  of  moderation,  a  very  deacon  of 
sobriety,  and  turn  him  loose  in  pasture.  Whew, 
what  a  change !  He  takes  one  or  two  steps  slowly, 
just  to  be  sure  that  you  have  let  go  of  him,  and  then 
with  a  squeal  he  lets  fly  his  heels  high  in  the  air,  till 
the  sun  flashes  from  his  polished  shoes,  and  then  off 
he  goes,  faster  and  fiercer,  clear  across  the  lot,  till  the 
fence  brings  him  up.  And  then,  his  eye  flashing,  his 
mane  lifted  and  swelling,  his  tail  up  like  a  king's 
sceptre,  he  snorts  a  defiance  to  you  from  afar,  and, 
with  a  series  of  reariugs,  running  sideways,  pawing 
and  plungings,  friskings  and  whirls,  he  starts  again, 
with  immense  enjoyment,  into  another  round  of  run 
ning.  Do  you  not  see  that  it  is  more  than  fun  ?  It 
is  ecstasy.  It  is  horse  rapture  ! 

I  never  see  such  a  spectacle  that  I  am  not  painfully 
impressed  with  the  inhumanity  of  not  letting  horses 
run.  Fastness  is  a  virtue.  Our  mistaken  moderation 
is  depriving  him  of  it.  I  drive  fast  on  principle.  I 
do  it  for  the  sake  of  being  at  one  with  nature.  To 
drive  slow,  only  and  always,  is  to  treat  a  horse  as 
if  he  were  an  ox.  You  may  be  slow  if  you  think 


DRIVING  FAST   HORSES  FAST.  339 

proper.  But  your  horse  should  be  kept  up  to  nature. 
He  would  have  had  but  two  legs  if  it  was  meant  that 
he  should  go  only  on  a  "  go-to-meeting "  pace.  He 
\\&sfour  legs.  Of  course  he  ought  to  do  a  great  deal 
with  them. 

Now  why  do  I  say  these  things  to  you?  Not  to 
convince  you  of  your  duty.  But  I  feared  lest,  tak 
ing  me  out  to  ride,  you  would  be  disposed  to  think 
that  /  had  scruples,  and  would  jog  along  moderately, 
as  if  doing  me  a  favor.  Not  at"  all.  The  wind  does 
not  go  fast  enough  to  suit  me.  If  I  were  engineer 
of  a  sixty-mile-an-hour  express  train,  I  should  covet 
twenty  miles  an  hour  more. 

Let  the  horses  be  well  groomed, — well  harnessed. 
Let  the  wagon  be  thoroughly  looked  to,  —  no  screw 
loose,  no  flaw  just  ready  to  betray  us.  Mount.  I  am 
by  your  side.  The  whip  is  not  needed.  Yet  let  it 
stand  in  its  place,  the  graceful  hint  of  authority  in 
reserve,  which  is  always  wholesome  to  men  and 
horses. 

Now  get  out  of  town  cautiously.  No  speed  here. 
This  is  a  place  for  sobriety,  moderation,  and  propriety 
in  driving.  But,  once  having  shaken  off  the  crowd,  I 
give  you  a  look,  and  disappear  instantly  in  a  wild 
excitement,  as  if  all  the  trees  were  crazy,  and  had 
started  off  in  a  race,  as  if  the  fences  were  chalk-lines, 
as  if  the  earth  and  skies  were  commingled,  and  every 
thing  were  wildly  mixed  in  a  supernatural  excite 
ment,  neither  of  earth  nor  of  the  skies ! 

The  wind  has  risen  since  we  started.  It  did  not 
blow  at  this  rate,  surely  !  These  tears  are  not  of  sor 
row.  But  really  this  going  like  a  rocket  is  new  to 
every  sense.  Do  not  laugh  if  I  clutch  the  seat  more 


340  EYES  AND   EARS. 

firmly.  I  am  not  afraid.  It  is  only  excitement.  You 
may  be  used  to  this  bird's  business  of  flying.  But 
don't  draw  the  rein.  I  am  getting  calm.  See  that 
play  of  muscle  !  Splendid  machinery  was  put  into 
these  horses.  Twenty  horse-power  at  least  in  each  ! 
And  how  they  enjoy  it !  No  forcing  here.  They  do 
it  to  please  themselves,  and  thank  you  for  a  chance ! 
Look  at  that  head  !  Those  ears  speak  like  a  tongue  ! 
The  eyes  flash  with  eagerness  and  will !  Is  it  three 
miles  ?  Impossible  !  It  is  not  more  than  half  a  mile ! 
Well,  draw  up.  Let  me  get  off  now,  and  see 
these  br^e  creatures.  What !  not  enough  yet  ?  No 
painful  puffing,  no  throbbing  of  the  flanks.  They 
step  nervously,  and  champ  the  bit,  and  lean  to  your 
caresses,  as  if  they  said :  "  All  this  we  have  done  to 
please  you;  now  just  let  us  go  on  to  please  our 
selves  !  " 


FENCE-CORNERS. 

]T  makes  a  great  difference  whether  we  look 
at  things  with  an  exact  business  eye,  or 
with  the  eye  of  poetry  and  beauty.  If  one 
sees  a  thistle  in  his  mowing-lot,  he  runs  at 
it  as  if  it  were  a  venomous  animal.  But  if  saun 
tering  through  the  pastures,  and  in  an  appreciative 
mood  he  sees  a  thistle  growing  strongly  where  it 
will  harm  no  one,  and  will  scatter  seeds  only  in  the 
wild  field,  he  begins  to  note  more  considerately  its 
vigor,  its  stateliness,  its  robust  health,  and  its  regal 
blossom.  It  is,  indeed,  the  very  king  of  weeds. 


FENCE-CORNERS.  841 

And,  like  true  royalty,  it  is  guarded  at  every  branch 
and  every  leaf  by  spines  more  efficacious  in  produ 
cing  respect  in  those  approaching  it,  than  marshals' 
wands  or  guardsmen's  halberts.  For  ourselves,  we 
like  a  real  thistle  of  the  thistliest  kind ;  none  of  your 
fine,  lathy  Canada-thistles,  that  grow  in  flocks,  and 
have  fecundity  at  the  top  and  immortality  at  the  bot 
tom  ;  but  a  real,  revising,  stalwart,  old-fashioned  this 
tle  two  yards  high,  and  of  a  spread  that  gives  it  some 
claims  as  a  tree ! 

But  all  this  is  mere  illustration.  We  were  saying 
how  differently  things  looked  according  to  the  spirit 
in  which  we  look  at  them.  And  we  were  going  to 
apply  this  to  PENCE-CORNERS,  or  rather  to  the  wild- 
weed  hedges  which  form  along  old  stone-walls  or 
crooked  rail-fences. 

Now  it  cannot  be  denied^that,  from  the  stand-point 
of  clean  and  thorough  farming,  such  hedges  are  dis 
graceful.  They  represent  the  carelessness  or  the 
indolence  of  the  farmer.  But  if  one  will  cease  to 
be  an  agricultural  critic,  and  allow  himself  some  lat 
itude  of  charitable  complacency,  he  will  find  much 
to  admire.  Indeed,  we  may  as  well  own  it,  we  love 
wild,  neglected,  rampant-growing  weed  hedges ! 

One  gets  tired  of  too  much  regularity.  Potatoes 
in  rows,  cabbages  in  squat  rows,  beans  in  rows,  tur 
nips  drilled  in  rows,  corn  in  rows,  orchards  in  rows, 
everything  in  rows  —  one  begins  to  feel  the  graceless 
stiffness,  and  to  long  for  some  irregularity  and  variety. 
This  the  eye  gets  abundantly  in  the  weedy  hedge. 
Here  is  no  prim  order.  "  First  come,  first  served," 
is  the  only  law  here.  "  Blessed  be  the  strong !  " 
is  the  motto  of  the  weed-row.  And  one  will  notice 


342  EYES  AND  EARS. 

that  nothing  in  all  the  fields  is  apt  to  be  half  so 
robust  and  healthy  as  are  the  heathen  plants  of  the 
hedge.  The  plough  of  the  careless  farmer  has,  from 
year  to  year,  thrown  the  furrow  one  way,  and  mould 
has  collected  near  the  fence.  The  flying  dust,  too, 
has  been  caught  and  washed  down  there.  Then  every 
year  returns  to  the  ground  again  the  whole  summer's 
deciduous  growth,  to  decay  and  enrich  the  soil.  Be 
sides  this,  birds  are  not  ungrateful  for  shelter  and  ber 
ries,  and  make  their  contributions  of  cheerful  guano. 
And  so  it  comes  to  pass  that  the  richest  part  of  all 
the  field  is  its  boundary. 

Here,  then,  we  shall  find  what  vegetation  can  do. 
Great,  rank  weeds  spread  their  succulent  arms  to 
point  in  pity  at  the  starveling  crops  which  the  lazy 
farmer  is  eking  out  of  the  starved  soil.  Just  so  it  is 
in  towns  and  cities.  You  shall  see  mighty  natures 
springing  up  in  the  hedgerows  of  society,  and  over 
topping  with  their  vigorous  growth  all  the  puny  crea 
tures  that  are  faintly  growing  in  feeble  civilization. 

There  is  a  wild  liberty,  too,  in  the  hedge,  that 
excites  pleasure.  Here  is  no  master.  Everything 
thrives  according  to  its  own  nature.  No  envious 
hoe  decimates,  no  partial  tillage  cuts  one  and  culti 
vates  another.  Everything  is  left  to  show  its  own 
force  and  nature,  unhelped  and  unhindered.  This 
would  be  distasteful  in  a  whole  field  where  we  look 
for  husbandry.  But,  as  a  contrast,  it  is  all  the  more 
striking  in  the  belt  around  the  edges. 

In  this  little  forest  you  shall  find  often  the  fairest 
flowers.  Here  the  golden-rod  multiplies  its  roots  and 
sends  up  its  golden-branched  tops  in  graceful  profu 
sion.  Asters  compete  with  it.  The  raspberry  curves 


FENCE-COKNERS.  343 

over  in  exquisite  lines.  And  the  creeping  blackberry 
yields  the  most  beautiful  festoons  of  white  blossoms 
mixed  with  exquisite  leaves  that  you  shall  find  in  the 
whole  world.  The  blackberry  is  a  thousand  times 
sweeter  when  eaten  with  the  eyes,  by  its  blossoms  and 
leaves,  than  ever  afterwards  when  it  yields  winy  ber 
ries.  Here,  too,  bindweed,  ironweed,  unsociable  this 
tles,  an  occasional  hawthorn,  tufts  of  grass  like  a  stack 
of  spears,  convolvulus,  gold-thread,  and  I  know  not 
how  many  other  graceful  or  graceless  things,  tower, 
or  twine,  or  creep. 

It  is  the  very  aviary,  too,  of  the  farm.  Sparrows 
love  the  weedy  thicket.  Birds  hunt  through  it,  build 
in  it,  and  find  it  both  larder  and  nursery.  Nor  are 
they  the  only  inmates.  It  is  the  very  Jerusalem  of 
insects.  All  nimble  worms  creep  about  in  it.  Long- 
legged  spiders  meditate  profound  metaphysics  there, 
and  express  themselves  clearly  in  cobwebs,  and  for 
amusement  eat  each  other  up.  Crickets  in  their 
season  abound.  Every  stone  has  under  it  a  colony. 
Mice  squeak  in  their  little  galleries.  Squirrels  dance 
along  the  top  or  move  in  and  out  of  the  chinks  of  the 
wall.  And  all  manner  of  things  seem  to  feel  that 
here  in  this  neglected  place,  where  no  law  rules,  no 
plough  comes,  no  sickle,  but  only  nature  rules,  there 
is  for  them  a  city  of  refuge,  a  dwelling  of  liberty ! 

Let  others  pish  and  pshaw  !  We  shall  still  love  the 
weedy  hedge  along  the  neglected  fence.  Nor  will  we 
forget,  that  chance-sown  seeds  have  there  brought 
forth  some  of  the  noblest  fruits  of  the  orchard  and  the 
garden !  Out  of  the  fence-corners  of  society,  too, 
come  often  its  very  noblest  men.  It  is  a  good  soil  to 
grow  strong  things  in  ! 


844  EYES   AND    EAKS. 


AGRICULTURAL    PAPER. 

R.  BONNER:  You  have  sent  me,  on  sev 
eral  occasions,  parts  of  letters,  from  some 
of  your  innumerable  subscribers,  requesting 
sometimes  one  thing  and  sometimes  another. 
Now,  it  is  a  correction  of  fact;  then,  a  dissent  of 
opinion.  The  last  one,  if  I  rightly  remember,  thinks 
that  I  am  just  the  man  to  write  some  interesting  arti 
cles  upon  agriculture  !  Let  that  discreet  and  virtuous 
man,  and  all  who  are  of  his  sagacious  turn  of  mind, 
now  follow  me  !  I  shall  go  forth  for  my  first  article. 

With  our  faces  to  the  north,  let  us  ascend  the  gen 
tle  acclivity.  Pass  by  the  strawberry-bed  on  the 
right,  the  grassy  old  orchard,  with  a  few  venerable 
remnants  of  trees,  bearing  apples  in  a  state  of  nature, 
ungrafted,  on  the  left,  we  come  to  the  stone-wall  be 
yond  which  lies  the  field  and  theme  of  our  first  paper 
on  agriculture.  And  now,  before  proceeding,  let  me 
request  you  to  send  this  paper  to  the  various  agricul 
tural  papers  ;  to  the  several  colleges  in  which  an  agri 
cultural  department  is  maintained ;  to  Professor  Liebig, 
Boussingault  (if  alive),  Johnston  (who  published  an 
admirable  volume  of  lectures  on  agriculture,  without 
an  index,  and  where,  in  chase  of  a  fact  or  statement, 
a  man  might  as  well  run  through  all  Oregon  after  an 
undescribed  man  or  tree  !  Such  books  are  a  nuisance 
and  an  abomination,  wasters  of  time,  provokers  of 
temper,  and  so  wicked ;  now  please  help  me  over  the 
fence  of  this  bracket  into  the  main-road  of  my  re 
mark,  if  you  please),  and  to  other  eminent  dignities 


AGRICULTURAL   PAPER.  345 

agricultural,  of  whom  my  friend  Saxton  will  give  you 
a  list.     Now,  then,  for  it.     My  subject  is  Pumpkins  I 

The  spelling  of  this  word  is  various.  Ponipion, 
Pumpkin,  Punkin ;  Webster  first  gives  Pompion. 
When  I  came  to  this,  I  had  liked  to  have  changed 
sides,  and  gone  over  to  the  Worcester  man  on  the 
Dictionary  question.  For  Webster  was  a  Connecticut 
man,  and  to  spell  pumpkin  pompion,  could  be  noth 
ing  less  than  contempt  for  the  usages  of  the  commu 
nity  in  which  he  was  brought  up.  It  was  an  act  of 
orthographical  treason  Arnoldian.  (Arnold,  too,  was 
a  Connecticut  Yankee.  The  fact  is  sometimes  alleged 
against  the  virtuous  fame  of  my  birth-State.  Just 
the  contrary.  Such  men  lurk  in  the  blood  of  every 
State.  But  not  every  one,  like  Connecticut,  has  mor 
al  health  to  drive  them  out  of  the  blood  to  the  skin. 
The  very  appearance  of  a  rogue  in  Connecticut  is  evi 
dence  of  the  purity  of  the  blood  that  rids  itself  thus 
of  disease.)  But  that  word  Pompion.  Webster,  sly 
and  cautious  man,  instantly  follows  up  that  spelling 
with  the  true  one,  —  Pumpkin.  Have  I  not,  a  hun 
dred  times,  stood  up  in  the  spelling-classes  in  the  vil 
lage  school,  where,  drawn  up  in  battle,  in  opposite 
ranks,  sweet  girls  spelled  the  boys,  and  the  boys  mis 
spelled  the  girls,  and  thundered  out  the  right  spelling, 
p-u-m-p  —  pump  ;  k-i-n  —  PUN&m !  On  looking  a  sec 
ond  time,  I  see  that  Mr.  Webster  spells  pompion  with 
a  u,  pwmpion.  This  is  an  evasion,  a  disingenuous 
compromise.  If  one  wishes  to  say  pompion  at  all,  let 
him  say  it  boldly  with  full  vowels.  But  to  throw  out 
the  o,  and  give  it  a  pumpkin  flavor  by  inserting  a 
softer  u  is  a  trick  that  will  not  succeed,  and  ought 
not. 

15* 


346  EYES  AND   EARS. 

But  now  notice  his  definitions.  "  Pumpion  (Dan 
ish,  pompoen ;  Swedish,  pomp,  a  gourd).  A  plant  and 
its  fruit  of  the  genus  Cucurbita."  This  is  all !  Next, 
pumpkin  is  defined  "  a  pompion,"  and  that  is  every 
word  that  Mr.  Webster  says  of  this  New  England 
institution  !  Not  a  syllable  of  uses,  origin,  culture, 
nature,  poetry,  history,  associations,  relations,  aspect ; 
and  not  one  word  of  that  more  than  Olympic  day, 
THANKSGIVING,  when  pumpkins  were  apotheosized ! 
Why,  on  that  immortal,  gustatory  day,  Connecticut 
from  time  immemorial  has  stood,  not  like  heathen  Bac 
chus,  wreathed  with  leaves  of  grape,  and  crowned  with 
purple  clusters,  but  like  a  Christian  Puritan,  as  she  is, 
with  a  pumpkin  for  her  head,  glowing  with  ripe  yel 
low  lustre,  delightful  and  delicious  to  all  devout  boys! 
Let  all  that  are  interested  in  lexicography  look  well 
to  such  instances  of  concealed  defection  as  this  of 
Webster's.  Would  one  trust  a  man  with  the  English 
tongue,  whose  own  tongue  was  so  false  to  every  sylla 
ble  of  his  early  experience,  —  pumpkin-pie,  pumpkin- 
butter,  pumpkin-molasses,  and  all  other  shades  and 
forms  of  its  benevolent  existence  ?  Until  something 
is  done  on  this  pumpkin  question,  Mr.  Merriam  (not 
aqueous  E.  M.,  but  bibliopolic  G.  M.)  must  not  look 
to  me  for  any  further  countenance.  I  will  never  sup 
port  a  dictionary  that  is  false  to  pumpkins  !  It  may 
be  that  the  Quarto  Pictorial  Edition  has  both  a  pic 
ture  and  a  definition  worthy  of  my  theme.  If  so,  I 
am  appeased.  But  a  man  that  does  not  believe  in 
pumpkins,  must  be  a  squash. 

As  to  the  derivation  of  this  word,  we  need  not  go 
back  to  Danish  or  Swedish  sources.  If  anything  in 
this  world  is  English,  pumpkin  is  that  thing  !  And  it 


AGRICULTURAL   PAPER.  347 

is  not  to  be  supposed  that  either  the  Danes  or  Swedes 
knew  English  before  we  did  ourselves.  No.  The 
origin  is  on  the  very  face  of  the  word.  The  very 
family  of  words,  immediately  preceding  this  one  in 
Webster,  is  Pump,  defined  to  be  a  "  hydraulic  engine 
for  raising  water."  That  is  exactly  the  function  of 
pumpkin,  and  from  that,  without  question,  its  name 
is  derived.  I  know  that  in  the  Spanish  bomba  cor 
responds  to  the  French  pompe,  and  means  a  pump 
and  a  bomb.  Some  may  think  that  the  resemblance 
of  a.  pumpkin  to  a  bomb  gave  rise  to  its  name.  It 
has  a  formidable  resemblance,  and  is  filled,  too,  with 
seeds,  that,  when  it  descends  from  any  height,  and 
splits,  fly  about  with  much  of  the  alacrity  which 
belongs  to  the  spices  with  which  military  bombs  are 
stuffed.  But  this  ingenious  etymology  cannot  stand. 
Pumpkins  existed  long  before  bombs,  and  must  have 
had  a  name.  It  is  much  more  likely  that  the  bomb 
was  named  from  the  pumpkin.  Indeed,  the  bomb  is  a 
pumpkin  of  war,  growing  upon  its  lava  s'oil,  and  filled 
with  terrific  seeds  of  ruin  ! 

Having  cleared  away  this  rubbish,  we  are  now 
ready  for  our  pumpkins,  which  shall  be  served  next 
week. 


348  EYES  AND  EARS. 


THE  PUMPKIN  FAMILY.  — ITS  RELATIVES  AND 
RIVALS. 

HE  pumpkin  is  in  the  situation  of  a  hero 
without  a  poet  or  historian.  Its  merits 
are  worthy  of  renown.  But  it  has  found 
no  worthy  eulogist.  Its  vine  indeed  is  a 
little  coarse,  as  compared  with  the  clematis,  the 
honeysuckle,  or  the  convolvulus.  What  great  hands 
it  holds  up  to  the  sun,  broad,  succulent,  rough ! 
And  the  leaf-stalk,  is  it  not  the  trumpet,  the  cheap 
squirt-gun,  the  blow-pipe,  and  I  know  not  what  else, 
of  ingenious  boyhood? 

The  pumpkin-vine  has  a  flowery  and  rhetorical 
way  with  it  quite  admirable.  Other  vines  seem  to 
require  premeditation  and  a  good  deal  of  prepara 
tion,  before  they  spread  themselves  abroad.  But 
the  pumpkin-seed  may  be  dropped  in  any  corn-field, 
or  in  a  mere  hedgerow,  and  it  waits  but  a  few  days 
before  it  lifts  up  the  soil,  and  emits  two  great,  hon 
est,  spoon-shaped  leaves,  that  stand  looking  about  in 
simple  surprise,  as  if  the  world  looked  greatly  differ 
ent  from  what  they  expected.  But  this  pause  upon 
the  threshold  of  active  life,  this  modest  reserve,  is 
becoming  in  both  bay  and  pumpkin.  Then  it  throws 
forth  its  vine,  and  runs  boldly  over  the  ground  with 
a  luxuriance  comfortable  to  behold.  No  laggard  is 
it ;  no  stingy  grower,  needing  to  be  nursed  and 
coaxed  and  cossetted.  You  see  vigor  in  the  very- 
seed.  The  first  germ  prophesies  large  growth,  and 
every  runner  confirms  and  fulfils  the  prophecy.  The 


THE   PUMPKIN   FAMILY.  849 

blossom,  too,  is  in  hearty  sympathy  with  the  whole 
vine.  It  is  no  dainty  thing,  appealing  to  your  ad 
miration  through  a  sentiment  of  pity ;  it  is  no  pale, 
slender,  fragile,  city-bred  beauty,  that  might  blow 
away,  or  the  sun  drink  up  like  a  drop  of  dew.  The 
pumpkin-blossom  is  large  and  buxom,  open-hearted^ 
a  refuge  for  bees,  that  fly  into  it  with  open  wings, 
and  work  around  its  nectaries  in  a  golden  dust,  and 
so  overload  themselves  with  sweets  as  often  to  for 
get  their  homeward  duties,  and,  like  sailors  in  some 
tropic  island,  desert  their  ship  to  live  in  the  luxury 
of  overmastering  sweets.  And  so  you  shall  find  dis 
sipated  flies  and  shrewish  wasps  and  wanton  bees 
intoxicated  with  the  abundance,  and  even  dying  in 
an  ecstasy  of  pumpkin-blossom. 

But  in  due  time  behold  the  fruit.  Even  when 
green  it  is  delightsome  to  the  eyes.  The  unstinted 
fulness  of  the  great,  round,  plump  fellow ;  then  the 
exquisite  veining  when  the  forces  of  Nature  begin  to 
change  green  to  orange,  and  a  network  of  green 
lines  among  yellow  surfaces  surpasses  in  ingenuity 
and  frolicsome  beauty  anything  that  Kaphael  ever 
formed  in  arabesque,  or  Cellini  traced  upon  his  curi 
ously  wrought  goblets.  Indeed,  every  artistic  gold 
smith  should  attentively  study  the  pumpkin.  Its 
foundation  color  is  quite  in  his  way.  Its  lines  are 
finer  than  he  can  fashion,  and  its  meshes  of  green 
and  gold,  netting  the  great  orb  with  an  entangle 
ment  of  figures  that  would  have  brought  a  Moorish 
artist  to  his  knees  in  admiration. 

Indeed,  no  one  can  have  attentively  studied  Moor 
ish  architecture  without  perceiving  that  many  of  its 
principal  features,  its  domes,  its  traceries,  were  bor- 


350  EYES  AND  EARS. 

rowed  from  the  pumpkin  !  What  is  the  magnificent 
dome  of  St.  Peter's  but  the  highest  development  of 
that  idea  which  you  shall  see  expressed  or  hinted  in 
every  well-conditioned  pumpkin !  Thus  a  few  acan 
thus-leaves,  touched  by  human  genius,  gave  us  the 
Corinthian  capital.  The  arches  of  the  forest,  we 
are  sometimes  told,  are  the  primitive  types  of  Gothic 
architecture.  Bo  not  leaves,  stems,  roses,  fleur-de- 
luces,  sunflowers,  clover-leaves,  and  scores  of  other 
things,  furnish  to  architecture  its  richest  decorations  ? 
But  it  was  reserved  to  the  pumpkin  to  crown  the 
whole,  by  giving  to  architects  the  conception  of  a 
ribbed  dome. 

Thus  it  is  that  modest  merit  often  finds  itself  hon 
ored.  And.  much  as  the  pumpkin  is  used  as  a  term 
of  ridicule,  whoever  saw  a  pumpkin  that  seemed  to 
quail  or  look  sheepish  ?  How  do  they  swell  their 
great  honest  sides,  warm  with  the  autumn  sun,  as 
if  they  would  say,  As  long  as  St.  Peter's  stands,  and 
lifts  the  glorified  and  perfected  pumpkin  into  the  air, 
so  long  let  every  honest  pumpkin  hold  up  its  head 
and  be  proud  of  its  illustrious  position !  Who  doubt, 
that  the  color,  too,  of  the  pumpkin  suggested  the 
practice  of  gilding'  domes  ?  Indeed,  architects  awoke 
to  the  form  and  the  color  of  magnificent  domes  when 
they  intelligently  studied  the  pumpkin.  And  one 
need  not  travel  in  foreign  lands,  to  Mecca  or  Damas 
cus,  to  see  the  mosques  gleaming  in  the  sunlight. 
Let  him,  when  the  corn  has  been  cut  from  the  field, 
and  the  whole  expanse  is  aglow  with  radiant  pump 
kins,  sit  him  down,  and,  like  a  true  poet,  letting  the 
coarser  substance  of  the  scene  subside,  imagine  him 
self  gazing  upon  a  city  so  far  removed  that  its  spires, 


THE  PUMPKIN   FAMILY.  351 

minarets,  and  domes  are  in  proportion  to  the  objects 
before  him.  That  single  stem  of  corn  is  a  spire,  that 
clump  of  tall-growing  reeds  is  a  palace  piercing  the 
sky  in  many  forms  of  tower,  while  golden  domes  glit 
ter  in  wondrous  magnificence  as  often  as  his  imagina 
tion  can  transform  a  pumpkin  into  the  ribbed  orb  of 
a  stately  mosque ! 

Among  the  ways  which  men  employ  to  sustain  their 
respectability,  none  is  more  common  than  an  exhibi 
tion  of  their  social  connections.  One  whose  cousin  is 
a  governor,  whose  uncle  is  a  general,  whose  brother 
has  been  to  Congress,  cannot  but  stand  well  in  soci 
ety.  Reputation  is  of  the  nature  of  a  vine,  and  our 
reputable  relatives  are  so  much  brush  or  trellis  on 
which  we  run  up.  And  every  one  knows  how  much 
more  of  a  figure  a  blossom  or  a  fruit  cuts  when  lifted 
up  in  the  air,  than  when  lying  half  concealed  in  grass, 
or  spattered  on  the  bare  ground.  Now  the  pumpkin, 
had  it  no  merits  of  its  own,  would  yet  hold  up  its  head 
on  account  of  its  eminent  relations. 

The  old  family  name,  of  great  antiquity  and  re 
nown,  is  Cucurbitacece.  There  were  at  least  sixty 
branches  of  this  family,  and  at  least  three  hundred 
several  special  households  with  family  names. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  the  cucumber  ?  All  round 
the  world  it  is  used  for  pickles,  for  sajad,  and  for  ex 
citing  the  ambition  of  gardeners.  The  first  cucumber 
of  the  season,  how  many  retired  gentlemen,  amateur 
gardeners,  and  regular  cultivators  compete  for  the 
honor  of  producing  it !  The  excellent  and  amiable 
melon  family,  also  known  the  world  around.  I  refer 
to  the  Cucumis  melo,  or  muskmelon,  alias  cantaloupe, 
alias  nutmeg,  alias  Persian  melon,  which  is  a  near 


352  EYES  AND   EARS. 

kinsman  of  the  pumpkin.  So  also  is  the  Cucumis 
citrullus,  or  watermelon,  a  venerable  relative.  What 
living  family  of  men  can  trace  blood  connections 
higher  up  the  course  of  time  than  the  homely  rela 
tions  of  the  melon  ?  For  is  not  the  watermelon  the 
very  thing  which  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  the  poor 
spiritless  Jews,  as  they  wandered  in  the  wilderness  ? 
This  is  the  record  (Num.  xi.  4,  5) :  "  And  the  chil 
dren  of  Israel  also  wept  again,  and  said,  Who  shall 
give  us  flesh  to  eat  ?  We  remember  the  fish  which  we 
did  eat  in  Egypt  freely ;  the  cucumbers,  and  the  mel 
ons,  and  the  leeks,  and  the  onions,  and  the  garlic." 

But  let  no  one  severely  reprove  them.  In  a  hot 
day,  if  you  have  been  tramping  along  a  shadeless 
road,  until  every  drop  of  moisture  seems  to  have  run 
out  of  you,  tired,  dusty,  hungry,  thirsty,  and  faint, 
you  sit  down  for  a  rest  in  some  nook.  The  vision  of 
your  father's  house  rises,  —  first,  the  mossy  well  and 
dripping  bucket,  then  the  melon-patch,  out  of  which 
your  boyish  arms  used  to  bring,  with  much  panting, 
early  in  the  morning,  the  night-cooled,  heavy  water 
melon,  moist  all  over  its  black-green  skin  with  dew ; 
you  remember  the  platter,  the  great  carving-knife,  — 
the  crackle-slit  of  the  knife,  the  two  halves  that,  rol 
ling  each  way,  opened  to  your  eyes  the  exquisite  pink 
and  red  of  the  pulpy  centre,  whose  vesicles  of  sugary 
juice  glistened  in  the  light  with  gentle  invitation. 
Tell  me,  stoutest  heart,  did  you  not  then  involun 
tarily  lick  your  own  lips,  and  feel  your  whole  mouth 
water  ?  Then  why  should  you  revile  the  poor 
Jews,  because  the  memory  of  melons  made  their 
eyes  water  ? 

And  here,  Mr.  Bonner,  although  your  paper  is  not 


THE   PUMPKIN   FAMILY.  353 

designed  for  Biblical  criticism,  I  desire  to  express  my 
conviction  that  the  passage  in  Isaiah  i.  8  is  mistrans 
lated.  Zion  is  said  to  be  left  "  as  a  lodge  in  a  gar 
den  of  cucumbers"  They  have  confounded  Cucumis 
sativus  with  C.  citrullus.  What  boy  ever  was  silly 
enough  to  rob  a  cucumber  patch  ?  No.  It  is  the 
melon,  the  watermelon  patch,  that  sends  mortal  her 
esy  into  boys'  faith  of  property  rights.  And,  without 
a  doubt,  human  nature  and  watermelons  were  the 
same  among  the  Jews  as  in  our  day.  The  lodge  was 
evidently  a  place  where  the  old  gentleman  hid  him 
self  with  a  long  whip  ;  and  when  the  rollicking  chaps, 
stealing  along,  looking  on  every  side,  peeping  and  spy 
ing,  conclude  that  the  dog  is  tied  iip,  the  old  man 
asleep,  and  the  whole  coast  clear,  begin  to  spoil,  — 
then  out  of  his  hiding-place  he  bolts,  and  comes  down 
on  them  with  such  slashing  welts,  such  piercing  snap 
pers,  such  lash-girders,  and  but-end  thwacks,  that 
the  wretches,  scattering  with  incredible  speed,  dive 
into  the  thicket,  and  bolt  over  the  fence,  as  if  each 
watermelon  were  a  bomb,  and  with  untimely  explo 
sion  accelerated  their  retreat ! 

I  ask  you,  Mr.  Bonner,  whether  my  view  of  this 
passage  does  not  bear  the  truth  upon  its  very  face  ? 

The  squash  family  are  of  the  same  blood  as  the 
pumpkin.  Indeed,  this  squash  family  have  a  sneak 
ing  ambition  to  supersede  the  pumpkin.  Squash-pie 
and  winter  squashes  take  on  airs  at  the  table,  and 
claim  a  seat  much  above  their  venerable  predecessor. 
As  for  squash-pies,  they  are  all  very  well  for  folks 
that  have  never  eaten  pumpkin.  I  must  admit,  that 
there  are  some  members  of  this  great  family  not  pre 
sentable  in  good  society.  But  in  so  large  a  connec- 


354  EYES   AND   EARS. 

tion  is  there  not  always  some  graceless  fellow,  some 
rogue,  robber,  or  cunning  swindler  ?  There  was  Co- 
locynth,  and  there  was  a  Bryonia,  and  several  other 
names  of  a  bitter  kind,  who  invariably  cleared  out 
any  persons  who  took  them  in. 

But  if  we  were  to  come  to  the  very  marrow  of  this 
matter,  what  pen  could  recount  the  world's  indebted 
ness  to  the  pumpkin,  for  rich  milk  in  pumpkin-fed 
cows,  for  pumpkin-sauce,  for  pumpkin-butter,  pump 
kin-molasses,  and,  above  all,  pumpkin-pies  !  But  that 
is  a  subject  too  intimately  connected  with  our  patriotic 
associations,  and  with  too  many  family  scenes,  to  be 
treated  at  this  end  of  an  article.  I  prefer  to  meditate 
in  expressive  silence,  or  to  be  inspired  with  a  separate 
article  ! 

P.  S.  —  This  article  is  to  be  considered  as  my  sec 
ond  paper  on  husbandry. 

2d  P.  S.  —  I  began  by  saying  that  the  pumpkin  had 
110  poet.  The  following  stanza  may  seem  to  disprove 
the  assertion  :  — 

"Peter,  Peter,  pumpkin-eater, 
Had  a  wife,  and  could  n't  keep  her ; 
He  put  her  in  a  pumpkin-shell, 
And  there  he  kept  her  very  well." 

This  beautiful  scrap  stands  in  our  literature  with 
out  a  name.  Whether  part  of  a  larger  poem  by  some 
Tupper,  or  only  the  sport  of  the  moment,  is  unknown. 
But  it  is  plain  the  author  meant  to  sing  the  domestic 
infelicity  and  victorious  discipline  of  Peter,  and  not 
the  merits  of  pumpkin.  That  is  merely  incidental. 


AUTUMN   COLORS.  355 


AUTUMN    COLORS. 

j|HEN  stone,  timber,  or  muck  are  to  be 
drawn,  then  a  farm  on  a  level  plain  is 
sighed  for.  But  when  one  considers  the 
enjoyment  of  the  eyes,  never  let  him  settle 
on  a  flat.  One  should  look  down  on  the  world.  This 
I  do.  And  this  morning,  0  Mr.  Bonner  !  and  all  ye 
who  live  in  the  crypts  and  passages  of  New  York 
houses,  how  I  pity  you  !  This  morning  is  one  of 
the  mysterious  and  bewitching  days.  Surely  it  is  not 
that  the  summer  is  ended,  the  green  year  passing,  the 
winter  coming,  that  gives  such  peculiar  influence  to 
the  days.  Something  has  been  poured  out  into  the 
air  from  the  land  of  magic.  It  has  been  steeped  with 
atmospheric  wine,  and  we  drink  by  breathing  a  sub 
tile  and  exhilarating  elixir.  The  blue  is  tender  and 
pale.  The  skies  are  full  of  clouds,  white,  thin,  and 
full  of  business.  This  one  opening,  shutting,  melting, 
reforming,  and  so  through  all  the  changes ;  this  one 
making  haste,  as  if  called  to  some  distant  battle,  and 
fiercely  driving  on  in  heat  to  the  rendezvous ;  or  if 
milder  thoughts  prevail,  then  they  seem  like  mighty 
flocks  of  fleecy  birds,  gathered  from  the  summer 
hatching  haunts  of  the  north,  and  borne  southward 
by  the  annual  impulse  of  migration.  But  such  is 
the  depth,  the  beauty,  and  the  mystic  influence  of 
the  heavens,  that  to  look  up  long  into  its  cope  affects 
you  with  giddiness,  such  as  men  feel  who  look  down 
from  great  heights.  And  then,  too,  the  color  of  all 
things  is  changing,  —  not  changed,  but  only  hinting 


356  EYES  AND   EAES. 

color.  We  must  except  the  maple-trees.  Some  of 
them  are  changed  to  a  straw  color.  Yonder  is  one 
very  green  except  one  branch,  which  stretches  up  from 
the  bottom  nearly  to  the  top,  and  that  is  of  vivid 
scarlet.  It  looks  like  a  tree  with  a  great  bouquet  of 
flowers  in  its  bosom.  But  along  the  fences  are  crim 
son  leaves  ;  the  autumn  yellows  predominate.  The 
corn  is  cut  up,  and  stands  out  on  the  hills  around 
here  in  shocks  to  dry.  The  emerald  grass  was  never 
more  tender  in  its  green.  The  orchard  is  waiting  to 
be  relieved  of  its  burden.  All  summer  long  it  has 
eased  itself  by  throwing  down  a  part  of  its  fruits, 
worm-picked  or  storm-gathered  ;  and  now  those  ap 
ples  that  remain,  full  grown,  plump,  ripe,  look  wist 
fully  at  you,  as  if  asking  your  care  for  winter.  And 
the  birds,  —  how  they  do  behave  !  What  is  the  matter 
with  them  ?  No  one  of  them  frolics.  They  have  lost 
all  their  gamesome  ways.  They  collect  in  mown 
field  for  seeds,  they  hover  about  orchards,  exchanging 
remarks  among  themselves  in  low  tones,  like  well- 
bred  people,  but  none  of  them  boisterous,  frisky,  or 
songful.  Bluebirds,  robins,  and  such  sorts,  abound  ; 
sometimes  scores  flock  about,  then  trios  and  fours. 
It  is  plain  that  they  are  done  with  summer.  They 
have  no  nests  now.  Their  children  are  all  grown  up. 
The  birds  all  belong  to  the  old  folks'  party. 

I  wandered  out  this  morning  under  the  trees  (the 
good  lady  had  gone  to  the  village,  and  her  daughter 
too,  and  I  was  quite  free,  and  was  shirking  all  work, 
and  having  a  good  time  on  the  grass).  That,  you 
know,  is  a  good  way  to  write  an  article.  It  is  bad  to 
go  out  and  look  at  things  if  you  wish  to  write  about 
them.  You  must  let  them  look  at  you.  You  must 


OUR   HOUSEKEEPING   EXPERIENCE.  357 

show  yourself  to  nature  ;  walk  about  confidentially 
and  lovingly  ;  gaze  at  just  those  things  that  have 
magnetism  in  them,  or  sympathy,  or  influence,  or 
whatever  you  choose  to  call  it.  Then,  after  an  hour 
or  two,  if  you  wish  to  write,  go  to  your  desk,  and 
whatever  has  had  a  real  hold  upon  you  will  then 
come  vividly  up  like  pictures, — just  as  it  does  to  me, 
now ;  and  I  should  give  you  a  sparkling,  glorious 
article  now,  were  it  not  that  at  this  very  nick  of  time 
I  am  interrupted  by  the  word,  that  if  I  send  in  time 
for  this  week,  I  must  send  this  minute.  0,  what  you 
have  lost !  It  was  very  fine,  —  very,  —  the  thing  I 
was  about  to  do ! 


OUR    HOUSEKEEPING    EXPERIENCE. 


EN  are  naturally  either  proud  or  conceited, 
and  sometimes  both.  This  appears  in  many 
things,  but  in  nothing  more  than  in  the  su 
percilious  airs  in  which  they  indulge  about 
housekeeping.  Every  well-bred  woman  has  had  occa 
sion  to  lament  the  ignorance  in  which  men  live,  with 
out  shame  or  self-reproach,  of  the  commonest  ele 
ments  of  domestic  economy.  How  often  does  the 
skilful  wife  lecture  the  discontented  husband  about 
the  impossibility  of  getting  a  breakfast  in  ten  minutes, 
or  of  always  having  things  up  to  an  imaginary  perfec 
tion  ;  or  of  doing  as  well  on  washing-days,  or  when 
the  cook  is  sick,  or  has  broken  her  temperance  pledge, 
or  when  there  has  been  an  insurrection  among  the 
help.  Only  the  constant  reminders  of  the  excellent 


358  EYES   AND   EARS. 

women  at  the  head  of  the  bureau  of  domestic  affairs 
can  keep  men  from  presumptuous  remarks  and  igno 
rant  complaints.  It  would  be  well  if  men  could  some 
times  be  left  to  do  their  own  work.  We  have  an  ex 
perience  to  relate. 

Our  summer  vacation  was  ended,  but  the  family 
were  to  remain  in  the  country  until  the  frost  opened 
chestnut-burrs  and  nipped  the  boys'  fingers.  We  con 
cluded  to  board  ourselves  for  the  day  or  two.  It  was 
Saturday.  We  began  to  reflect  upon  the  stores  to  be 
laid  in  for  Sunday,  and  the  method  of  preparing 
them.  We  have  a  little  gas-stove,  invaluable  for  sick 
ness,  for  pet  suppers,  and  for  returned  gentlemen  dis 
posed  to  make  their  own  tea.  With  it  we  could  boil 
and  bake.  To  broil  was  beyond  its  skill  —  or,  .at  any 
rate,  beyond  our  knowledge  of  its  capacity.  We  rum 
maged  the  shops  and  alighted  upon  a  gas-broiler,  to 
be  described  hereafter. 

We  proceeded  next  to  our  grocer's,  ordered  six  can 
taloupes,  as  many  tomatoes,  and  bread.  On  reach 
ing  home,  it  occurred  to  us  that  butter  was  sometimes 
used  with  bread,  and  that  had  been  forgotten.  We 
went  back  for  it,  and  also  procured  half  a  dozen  eggs. 
On  reflecting  how  the  eggs  were  to  be  eaten,  pepper 
and  salt  came  to  mind,  and  not  a  particle  of  either 
could  we  find  in  the  well-cleaned  castor.  We  looked 
into  the  store  closet,  behind  all  the  bottles,  tore  a  little 
hole  in  every  paper  package,  found  sage,  summer- 
savory,  catnip,  empty  spice-boxes,  salt-bags  used  for 
corks,  and  nests  of  boxes  of  all  sizes,  some  with  a 
smell  of  allspice,  some  with  odor  of  cinnamon,  and 
others  fragrant  of  nutmegs,  ginger,  and  cloves ;  but  no 
salt,  —  pepper  likewise.  After  wasting  time  in  order 


OUR   HOUSEKEEPING   EXPERIENCE.  359 

to  save  it,  back  we  go  a  third  time  to  the  grocer  for 
salt  and  pepper.  A  few  crackers,  also,  and  a  few  her 
rings. 

Next,  we  reflected  upon  the  proper  elements  of  a 
solitary  gentleman's  dinner.  Soup  was  out  of  the 
question ;  roast,  boiled,  and  fricassee  were  rejected ; 
fowls  and  fish  were  marked  out ;  and  only  porter 
house  steak  and  mutton-chop  remain.  The  quantity 
staggered  us  a  little.  But,  to  err  on  the  side  opposite 
famine,  we  ordered  two  beefsteaks  and  five  pounds  of 
mutton-chop.  (Let  the  sequel  be  noted.)  As  there 
was  nobody  in  the  house  to  receive  them,  we  raced 
home  to  'tend  the  door !  We  waited  a  full  hour,  and 
when  at  length  the  things  came  in,  our  patience  had 
gone  out. 

Next,  we  found  that  coffee  must  be  bought,  then 
tea  (English  breakfast  tea,  of  course,  real  Souchong, 
—  the  only  tea  of  thorough  refinement,  green  teas 
being  for  unlearned  drinkers).  These  we  brought 
home  in  our  own  hands.  At  length  our  labors  of 
preparation  seemed  over,  and  we  began  to  contem 
plate  results,  —  when  it  flashed  upon  us  that  there 
was  neither  milk  nor  sugar  in  the  house  !  These 
caused  another  journey.  We  hunted  up  a  kitchen 
knife  and  fork,  for  every  available  instrument  had 
been  carried  away,  and  the  silver  was  all  locked  up  in 
somebody's  safe.  Thus  nothing  was  left  for  burglars, 
and  —  nothing  for  us.  In  this  round  of  investigation 
we  gained  an  acquaintance  with  our  own  house  which 
forty  years  of  common  life  would  not  bestow.  We 
found  out  all  about  the  sideboard,  its  spoon-drawer, 
its  napkin-drawer,  its  closet,  and  that  secret  drawer 
on  each  side,  so  cunningly  arranged  that  no  thief 


360  EYES  AND   EARS. 

would  ever  suspect  its  presence  until  he  found  it  out. 
Then  the  china-closet  was  a  perfect  novelty,  arid  held 
us  in  long  investigation.  We  climbed  to  the  top 
shelves  of  the  store-closet,  saw  fragments  of  dishes, — 
various  old  acquaintances  that  disappeared  long  time 
ago.  We  searched  the  hall-closet,  and  the  kitchen- 
closet,  the  closets  between  the  two  rooms,  full  of 
drawers ;  we  got  down  on  our  knees  to  look  into 
lower  closets  tucked  in  under  suites  of  drawers,  and 
we  mounted  up  on  barrels  to  peer  into  high  nooks 
and  shelves,  and,  in  one  case,  the  barrel  playing  us 
a  mean  trick,  we  came  down  both  sooner  and  faster 
than  we  had  intended. 

But  how  shall  we  describe  our  experiences  when  all 
these  preparations  resulted  in  an  actual  meal?  A 
long  flexible  tube  was  brought  from  the  central  gas- 
fixture,  and  connected  with  the  pet  stove.  To  boil 
the  water  for  tea  or  coffee  was  easy.  We  had  often 
done  that.  But  we  had  forgotten  just  how  much  tea 
should  be  put  in  for  a  drawing.  And  the  quantity 
was  certainly  enough.  We  diluted  and  diluted,  and 
were  prodigal  of  milk  and  sugar,  without  being  able 
to  cover  the  prodigious  bitterness  of  the  draught. 
We  note  that  the  two  principal  faults  of  tea-making 
were  too  much  tea  and  too  long  steeping.  It  took  us 
yet  longer  to  drink  it,  and  longer  yet  to  get  over  it, 
and  into  sleep. 

But  this  was  all  commonplace  compared  with  our 
meat  history.  The  broiler  was  very  much  like  two 
iron  pot-lids  soldered  together,  with  a  hollow  handle 
attached.  The  gas  came  through  the  handle  into  the 
space  between,  and  the  lower  section  being  perforated 
with  a  multitude  of  gas-holes,  when  gas  was  let  on 


OUR   HOUSEKEEPING   EXPERIENCE.  361 

the  lower  surface  was  covered  with  blue  jets.  The 
meat  being  placed  on  a  tin  dish,  this  blazing  cover  was 
placed  on  proper  supports  just  over  it,  and  shot  its 
heat  downwards.  It  is  a  capital  contrivance.  The 
juice,  the  odor,  and  the  fragrant  fumes,  attempting  to 
escape,  were  driven  back  into  the  meat,  and  in  my 
own  case,  such  was  the  force  of  repression,  that  they 
were  driven  out  of  the  plate  and  over  on  to  the  dining- 
room  carpet  (for  all  our  exploits  took  place  there). 
Just  as  the  meat  began  to  sizzle  and  sputter,  and  while 
we  were  delightedly  gazing  at  the  process,  the  tube 
slipped  off  the  handle,  the  flame  went  out  very  sud 
denly  over  the  meat,  but  not  till  the  escaping  gas  from 
the  liberated  tube  had  caught  fire  and  shot  a  flame 
across  our  hands,  that  caused  us  to  drop  broiler,  knife, 
and  everything  else,  with  astonishing  celerity.  We 
had  no  idea  before  how  spry  we  could  be.  The  evil 
was  soon  repaired,  but  only  to  play  off  again  the  same 
trick,  till  we  held  the  tube  on  to  the  broiler  with  one 
hand,  and  manipulated  the  meat  with  the  other.  We 
salted  it,  we  peppered  it,  we  turned  it  twice,  the  first 
time  on  to  the  floor,  the  next  time  on  to  the  dish,  but 
with  the  same  side  up.  The  fork  was  a  four-pronger. 
It  could  not  get  hold,  or  only  just  so  far  as  was  need 
ful  to  effect  a  deception  and  a  disaster.  At  length  we 
put  out  the  gas,  uncovered  the  meat,  took  both  hands, 
and  triumphantly  reversed  the  obdurate  steak. 

It  was  with  some  pleasure,  but  not  much  pride, 
that  we  sat  down,  at  length,  to  the  repast.  The  bread 
was  baker's.  Of  course  it  was  dry,  tough,  and  taste 
less.  The  tea  we  have  spoken  of.  The  meat  was  the 
grand  dependence.  It  was  serviceable.  We  could 
hardly  cut  it,  and  could  not  chew  it.  The  tomatoes 

16 


362  EYES   AND   EARS. 

were  good.  The  melons  were  not.  But  the  whole 
dinner  agreed  with  our  theory  of  moderation  in  appe 
tite,  and  the  satisfaction  which  we  lacked  in  eating  we 
sought  to  gain  by  profitable  meditations. 

Facilis  descensus  Averno ;  sed  revocare  gradum, 
&c., —  "It  is  easy  to  get  dinner,  but  to  wash  up  the 
things,  this  is  the  burden  and  toil ! "  Yirgil  never 
spoke  a  truer  word. 

The  water  was  hot.  We  found  it  out  the  moment 
we  put  our  hand  in  the  dish.  It  was  the  same  hand 
that  the  gas  had  flamed  on.  We  reflected  on  the  dif 
ference  between  dry  heat  and  moist  hotness. 

We  could  find  no  dish-cloth.  The  grease  would  not 
come  off  the  plates.  There  was  no  soap.  We  rubbed 
with  our  hand,  which  only  gave  the  grease  a  circular 
form  on  the  plates.  At  length  we  got  a  newspaper, 
and  by  vigorous  rubbing,  got  the  ware  into  a  present 
able  condition.  The  tea-cups  were  better  served.  We 
found  a  napkin  on  the  bottom  of  the  spoon-drawer. 
It  was  a  mercy ! 

There  was  no  swill-bucket,  and  nowhere  to  throw 
the  slops,  and  nobody  that  came  for  these  superflui 
ties  in  summer.  The  melon-rinds,  the  tomato  frag 
ments,  the  inexorable  meat  scraps,  and  the  unmen 
tionable  sundries  of  a  man's  cooking  were  heaped  into 
the  dish-pan.  There  they  stood.  Another  newspa 
per  served  to  rub  down  the  table.  It  was  our  last  sol 
itary  meal.  A  week  afterwards  the  fragments  were 
found  standing  on  the  table  where  we  had  left  them ; 
the  lamb-chops  we  had  left  and  forgotten  in  the  cup 
board,  and  they  had  a  way  of  making  their  presence 
and  exigencies  known.  Indeed,  our  whole  procedure 
in  this  case  met  with  the  disapprobation  of  the  powers 
that  be,  nor  can  we  say  that  they  exactly  suited  us. 


SOLITUDE:    WASPS.  363 

But  we  have,  now,  a  profound  sense  of  a  man's 
dependence  on  women  for  domestic  comfort.  Instead 
of  thinking  that  housekeeping  is  easy,  —  a  mere  noth 
ing,  we  admire  and  revere  the  genius  that  conducts 
so  intricate  a  campaign  as  must  be  every  single  day's 
housekeeping. 


SOLITUDE:    WASPS. 


UGH  company  prepares  us  to  enjoy  solitude, 
and  being  alone  fits  us  again  for  society. 
There  is  a  longing  for  rest  which  grows 
upon  us  in  the  throng,  not  merely  from 
fatigue,  but  from  a  subtile  action  of  pride  and  self- 
respect.  In  society  men  are  like  threads,  woven  in 
and  out,  and  composing  a  fabric  of  many  colors. 
They  tend  to  lose  their  personal  distinctness.  One 
wishes  to  separate  himself  from  all  influences  about 
him,  and  see  just  what  is  left  of  himself.  Our  life 
runs  hither  and  thither  as  the  Croton  water  follows 
the  plumber's  pipes.  It  is  no  longer  a  river  flowing 
at  its  own  will,  between  its  own  banks,  with  its  own 
pools  and  shallows,  windings  and  shoots,  depths  and 
breadths.  We  escape  from  multitudes  with  a  sense 
of  intense  gladness. 

The  quiet,  the  unquestioning  silence,  the  absence 
of  watching  eyes,  the  subsidence  of  vigilance,  guard, 
and  circumspection,  on  our  own  part,  the  gentle  rise 
of  liberty  in  all  things,  the  release  of  the  nerves,  the 
unvexed  placidity  of  the  disposition,  —  these  are  the 
first-fruits  of  solitude. 


364  EYES  AND  EARS. 

Now,  if  one  has  sought  rest  in  the  country,  he 
will  be  conscious  of  the  distinct  luxury  of  sounds  in 
distinction  from  noise.  The  city  is  a  vast  mill.  It 
crashes,  jars,  rattles,  grinds.  The  houses  shake. 
There  is  not  an  hour  of  the  day,  and  scarcely  one 
of  the  night,  in  which  your  nerves  do  not  quiver  to 
the  heavy  roll  of  burdened  vehicles.  At  a  little  dis 
tance  the  sound  of  the  city  is  like  the  roar  of  surf 
on  an  exposed  seashore.  All  individuality  of  sounds 
is  merged  in  the  great  battle  of  noises  which  fill  the 
air  and  shake  the  ground.  After  an  hour's  dash 
upon  the  express,  we  land  forty  miles  away.  Soon 
we  are  walking  a  silent  path  along  the  hill-side.  A 
few  crickets  chirp.  A  chipmonk  half  whistles,  half 
barks,  as  he  dives  into  the  chinks  of  the  stone-wall. 
It  is  an  upland  path  along  which  you  walk,  stopping 
often,  gazing  now  at  the  great  cloud-fleets  that  voy 
age  through  the  sky  without  pilots  or  crew,  forever 
sailing,  but  never  accomplishing  their  voyage ;  now 
at  the  hills,  scarped  and  moulded  to  every  form  and 
with  every  variation  of  line.  The  Hudson  lies  like 
a  lake  before  you.  It  is  a  charmed  world!  Your 
cares  forget  you.  A  soft  sadness  mellows  every  feel 
ing.  Out  of  sadness,  if  it  be  a  right- one,  grow  the 
sweetest  flowers  of  gladness.  You  take  hold  of  God's 
thoughts  in  nature,  and  are  sure  that  his  realm  is 
wider  than  the  human  kind. 

Man  is  master.  But  there  is  a  great  deal  in  this 
world  besides  man.  Nature  takes  a  thousand  dar 
lings  to  her  bosom.  Every  evening  motherly  dark 
ness  puts  to  bed  myriads  of  unnamed  children  of  the 
sod,  of  the  leaf,  of  tree,  bush,  moss,  and  stone.  Ev 
ery  morning  she  sends  again  to  awaken  her  brood, 


SOLITUDE  :    WASPS.  365 

and  troops  them  forth  to  their  dewy  breakfast.  "  The 
eyes  of  all  wait  upon  thee,  and  thou  givest  them 
their  meat  in  due  season.  Thou  openest  thy  hand 
and  satisfiest  the  desires  of  every  living  thing."  We 
sometimes  get  nearer  to  God  in  proportion  as  we  get 
far  from  men.  These  neglected  treasures  of  Nature 
are  a  book  of  Divine  things,  and  if  we  do  not  read, 
the  Creator  does. 

•  •**••• 

The  wasp  is  always  well  dressed,  and  always  ready 
for  company.  A  nimble  creature,  exquisite  in  every 
particular,  —  trig,  polished,  burnished,  elegant  in  form, 
—  what  single  thing  can  be  alleged  against  him  ex 
cept  that  little  stiletto  which  he  carries  in  a  terminal 
sheath  ?  Yet  he  is  not  to  be  blamed.  He  did  not 
put  it  there.  All  that  in  reason  can  be  required  is, 
that  he  use  his  concealed  weapons  in  a  manner  con 
formable  to  justice  and  good  morals.  And  this  I 
believe  he  always  aims  to  do.  At  any  rate,  if  men 
would  use  their  tongues  with  half  that  discretion 
which  belongs  to  the  walk  and  conduct  of  wasps, 
the  world  would  gain  at  a  great  rate. 

If  anybody  has  reason  to  avenge  himself  upon 
them,  I  am  he.  When  October  days  come,  and  sad 
thoughts  invade  the  bosoms  of  wasps,  they  gather 
themselves  around  the  house  and  barn,  on  sunny 
days,  to  make  ready  for  winter. 

Now,  for  a  gentleman  at  leisure  walking  up  and 
down,  soliloquizing  good-will  to  all  creation,  it  is 
a  very  awkward  thing  to  have  a  wasp  creeping  up 
between  his  boot  and  pantaloon,  and  he  be  ignorant 
of  the  fact ! 

The  poor  insect  is  unconscious  of  any  impropriety. 


366  EYES  AND  EARS. 

He  has  no  suspicion  of  the  scenes  which  you  will 
soon  enact.  It  is  not  until  he  has  ascended  above 
your  knee  that  some  motion  constraining  the  cloth 
presses  him  close  to  your  warm  flesh.  The  contact 
is  a  terror  to  him.  It  may  be  the  bosom  of  a  devour 
ing  enemy !  Like  a  hero,  he  will  die  fighting.  He 
thrusts  out  his  sword  in  a  manner  that  dispels  every 
poetic  dream,  and  brings  you  to  the  realities  of  life 
with  such  a  clutch  at  the  spot  as  no  man  can  give 
except  one  who  has  once  had  a  wasp  between  rai 
ment  and  body.  You  have  got  him !  To  do  it  you 
have  taken  a  large  grasp,  that  he  may  be  encompassed 
with  thicknesses  of  cloth  impervious  to  the  longest 
sting.  But  the  act  and  attitude  are  not  favorable  to 
grace.  You  rush  toward  the  house  or  barn,  careless 
of  pace  or  dignity,  and  eager  only  for  deliverance. 
Now,  unless  one  has  been  drilled,  it  is  difficult  to  dis 
robe  while  you  are  bent  half  double,  and  with  only  a 
left  hand  at  liberty  for  use  and  an  enemy  in  the  rear. 
As  the  cautious  work  goes  on,  some  luckless  fold 
loosens,  and  the  enemy  is  at  you  again,  this  time 
in  good  earnest.  Strange  that  so  small  an  instru 
ment  can  put  a  brave  man  into  such  ecstatic  haste. 
But  there  is  many  a  man  who  could, firmly  face  a 
cannon,  who  could  not  stand  for  a  moment  with 
a  wasp  under  his  garment! 

The  fact  is,  you  do  not  know  where  he  is  —  or  will 
be.  He  may  be  in  your  hand,  or  he  may  be  just 
in  the  act  of  lancing  you,  here  or  there  or  anywhere. 
And  the  expectation  is  dreadful.  We  know  that  it 
is.  An  enemy  in  the  dark  is  always  powerful  through 
fear. 

I  consider  one  wasp  under  our  dress  as  more  ter- 


SOLITUDE  :    WASPS.  367 

rible  than  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  in  a  fair 
fight  in  the  open  field ! 

Bad  as  this  scene  is  to  a  proud  nature  with  delicate 
susceptibilities,  there  is  a  disgrace  even  worse ;  for, 
within  a  few  days,  and  while  your  flesh  creeps  with 
the  remembrance,  you  are  walking  your  garden  with 
a  few  friends,  picking  flowers  for  one  and  another 
in  turn,  and  nourishing  the  hours  with  genial  con 
verse,  when  in  the  very  middle  of  a  sentence  you 
seize  yourself  with  a  desperate  clutch,  and  without 
word  or  bow  you  race  and  hobble  toward  the  house 
again.  You  have  but  one  single  comfort,  —  that  you 
are  not  stung  yet.  With  utter  expedition,  you  come 
down  to  the  root  of  the  difficulty,  and  find  that  there 
was  no  wasp  at  all,  only  a  leaf  tickling  your  skin ! 
In  fact,  you  are  angry  now  to  think  there  was  no 
wasp.  If  one  must  go  through  the  fear,  the  march, 
the  fumble,  the  search,  he  ought  at  least  to  be  re 
warded  with  a  wasp ! 

Now,  whatever  may  have  been  the  sentiment,  the 
tenderness,  the  sobriety  of  the  former  hour,  such  an 
experience  tends  to  dissipate  it;  and  so,  Friend  Bon- 
ner,  the  mere  writing  about  it  has  so  put  to  flight  all 
my  pretty  fancies  and  conceits  about  solitude,  that  I 
think  it  best  to  reserve  them  for  a  time  when  solitude 
shall  not  be  so  sweetened. 


368  EYES   AND   EARS. 


FOOD    DISCOVERIES. 


ID  it  ever  enter  your  mind  to  inquire  how 
certain  articles  of  diet  were  first  intro 
duced  ?  Much  speculation  ha"s  been  in 
dulged  in  respecting  the  origin  of  lan 
guage  :  how  men  began  ;  whether  the  first  parents 
were  born  already  talking,  language  being  a  part  of 
the  machine,  just  as  striking  is  of  the  clock ;  or 
whether  they  first  began  by  interjections  and  grunts, 
which  in  time  worked  out  into  words  and  syllables, 
until  in  time  language  grew.  Such  researches  are 
very  profitable,  without  doubt. 

But  will  it  be  any  less  so  to  inquire  into  the  steps 
by  which  the  first  eaters  advanced,  the  progress  of 
discovery  and  the  eras  of  invention  ?  It  takes  no  deal 
of  practice  to  set  a  child  in  the  line  of  eating,  now 
that  everything  is  in  working  order.  But  how  about 
the  first  men  ?  Did  they  go  about  tasting  everything 
that  they  saw  ?  or  were  they  instructed  ?  There 
seems  to  be  no  positive  evidence  that  they  were,  and 
analogies  are  against  it.  I  can  imagine  Eve  experi 
menting  upon  peaches,  whose  color  invites,  whose 
flavor  provokes,  a  further  trial.  Strawberries  and 
grapes,  —  how  could  a  hungry  soul  do  less,  having 
smelled  of  them,  than  taste?  But  chestnuts,  cocoa- 
nuts,  and  many  other  things,  must  have  had  a  his 
tory.  A  chestnut-burr  does  not  reward  the  handling 
at  first.  Perhaps  these  do  not  grow  in  regions  first 
populated,  or  frosts  may  have  had  the  first  handling 
of  the  burr,  and  opened  the  silk  nest  in  which  the  nuts 


FOOD   DISCOVERIES.  369 

had  lodged,  and  then  some  wind  served  a  writ  of 
ejectment  on  them.  Then  the  all-devouring  pig 
might  have  experimented  upon  them.  Or  squirrels 
may  have  been  pioneers,  and  men,  observing  the 
satisfaction  manifested  by  their  inferiors,  may  have 
concluded  that  it  was  worth  their  trial. 

But  the  difficulties  do  not  chiefly  lie  in  the  direc 
tion  of  nuts  and  flavorsome  fruits.  When  was  the 
transition  made  from  cereals  and  fruits,  from  roots 
and  leaves,  to  flesh?  That  must  have  marked 
an  era. 

Is  it  Charles  Lamb  that  gives  the  account  of  the 
first  roast  pig  ?  He  has  not  mentioned,  if  I  recollect 
aright,  the  authorities  consulted,  though  his  known 
sobriety  of  judgment  and  carefulness  of  statement 
lead"  us  to  conclude  that  he  had  satisfactory  data  for 
the  statements  made.  But  his  theory  or  history  does 
not  seem  to  indicate  so  much  the  origin  of  a  general 
use  of  flesh,  as  a  local  and  special  taste  which  sprung 
up  for  pig.  When  did  men  begin  to  slay  cattle  ?  to 
dare  to  eat  meat  red  with  its  blood  ?  When  did  they 
discover  that  water  contained  food  ?  Was  it  not  a 
bold  man  that  first  ate  fish  ?  But  when  we  come  to 
crabs  and  lobsters,  the  case  becomes  wonderful !  Can 
anything  be  more  abhorrent  to  the  first  impressions 
than  those  sprawling,  many-legged,  hideous-eyed,  nim 
ble,  flat  dragons  of  the  deep  ?  Suppose  a  storm  to 
have  thrown  one  upon  the  shore.  How  dared  a  man 
to  touch  it  ?  He  must  have  been  drunk  and  reckless. 
But  an  oyster,  that  marvel  of  delicacy,  that  concen 
tration  of  sapid  excellence,  that  mouthful  before  all 
other  mouthfuls,  who  first  had  faith  to  believe  it,  and 
courage  to  execute  !  The  exterior  is  not  persuasive. 

16*  x 


370  EYES  AND   EARS. 

One  would  be  as  likely  to  gather  stones  for  a  lun 
cheon,  as  the  oyster,  shut  fast  in  his  shell.  Imagine 
one  opened.  The  long  shell  contains  this  armless, 
legless,  eyeless  pulp,  without  skin,  hair,  or  bone,  with 
out  motion  or  sense.  What  does  it  most  resemble  ? 
Every  one  will  have  his  own  imagination.  But  each 
one  of  them,  we  dare  to  say,  will  be  something  repul 
sive  to  taste.  Even  to  this  hour,  the  first  acquaint 
ance  with  oysters  is  with  much  hesitation  and  squeam 
ish  apprehension.  Who,  then,  first  gulped  the  dainty 
thing,  and  forever  after  called  himself  blessed  ?  I 
have  my  own  theory. 

Some  adventurous  sailors,  probably,  were  driven 
ashore,  their  boat  swamped,  all  their  provisions  sunk, 
and  half  their  company  drowned.  Unable  to  find 
root  or  acorn  on  the  barren  shore,  afraid  to  venture 
back  into  the  country,  where,  perhaps,  they  might 
have  been  served  up  for  food-  themselves,  they  sat 
upon  the  beach,  disconsolate.  Some  dry  sticks,  which 
the  waves  cast  up,  lay  near  them.  By  rubbing  they 
kindled  a  spark,  and  built  a  fire  upon  the  sand  and 
stones.  They  saw  oysters  lying  about,  cast  up  by  the 
violent  waves  which  had  been  so  disastrous  to  them. 
Some  lay  underneath  the  wood,  some  at  the  edge  of 
the  coals.  The  oyster,  surprised  at  such  a  warm 
reception,  opened  his  mouth,  and  could  not  shut  it ! 
From  that  moment  the  world  was  richer.  The  hun 
gry  men  believed  the  benignant  gods  had  wrought  a 
miracle  for  their  salvation.  The  morsel  looked  un 
savory.  But  if  the  divinities  had  wrought  food  out 
of  stones,  what  were  they,  that  they  should  be  afraid 
to  eat  ?  No  sooner  had  they  tasted  than  they  were 
confirmed  in  their  superstition.  This  was  the  very 


FOOD   DISCOVERIES.  371 

food  of  the  gods.     A  portion  had  been  dropped  down 
for  them  ! 

But,  now  that  men  have  learned  to  eat  such  unin 
viting,  and  even  repulsive  things,  why  should  they, 
with  ill-timed  prejudice,  turn  away  from  other  morsels 
and  delicacies  ?  Why  is  not  a  rat  as  good  as  a  rab 
bit  ?  Why  should  men  eat  shrimps  and  neglect  cock 
roaches  ?  In  other  words,  why  eat  the  white  shrimps 
and  reject  the  black  ones  ?  Why,  in  short,  should 
not  every  plump  and  well-conditioned  insect  be 
turned  to  good  account,  some  for  stews,  some  for 
soups,  and  some  for  garnishes  ?  A  boiled  ham,  orna 
mented  no  longer  with  useless  cloves,  but  with  grass 
hoppers  and  roaches  !  Vermicular  soups,  as  well  as 
Vermicelli  ?  The  French  eat  snails,  and  have  snail- 
eries.  Saint  John  lived  on  locusts.  Spiders  taste 
like  walnuts.  There  are  stores  of  luxuries  yet  in  re 
serve.  Instead  of  taxing  our  wits  to  find  how  to 
exterminate  the  insect  creation  that  invade  our  dwell 
ings,  prey  upon  our  harvests,  and  mar  our  fruit,  let 
us  exchange  our  tastes,  lay  aside  our  prejudices,  and 
attack  them  with  our  palate.  Once  let  it  be  put  in 
full  activity,  and  there  is  nothing  can  stand  before  the 
human  mouth.  French  savans  are  attempting  to  in 
troduce  horse-flesh  to  the  tables  which  long  have  nour 
ished  beef.  Why  not  next  invade  the  long-neglected 
list  of  delicacies,  hitherto  despised  as  luxuries,  and 
made  to  live  a  useless  life,  or  even  a  mischievous 
one  ? 


372  EYES   AND   EARS. 


GOOD-NATURED    PEOPLE. 

1R.  BONNER:  It  is  a  great  pleasure  to 
write  a  paper  upon  good-nature ,  to  a  good- 
natured  man,  just  as  it  is  fit  to  speak  of 
justice  before  a  just  judge,  or  of  art  before 
a  refined  person.  Are  you  not  good-natured  ?  Then 
the  handwriting  on  the  face  is  not  spelled  rightly. 
The  form,  too,  and  all  the  personal  circumstances, 
agree !  There  is  something  in  breadth  of  body  and 
largeness  of  countenance  that  always  suggests  gen 
erous  and  good-natured  disposition.  Good-nature 
seems  to  require  some  space  on  which  to  unroll. 
Lines  and  angles  are  for  wit.  A  smooth  brow  and 
corrugated  cheek  indicate  thought.  This  matter  of 
the  cheek,  however,  is  purely  stomachic,  and  not 
cerebral.  A  sunken  cheek  and  thin  face  under  a 
large  brow  show  that  the  brain  cheats  the  stomach 
of  good  digestion. 

Good-nature  is,  for  the  most  part,  among  the  young 
a  matter  of  temperament.  Bilious  temperaments  are 
not  apt  to  be  cheerful.  They  are  grave  and  stern,  or 
sad.  Nervous  temperaments  are  not  equable.  They 
are  excessively  happy  or  intensely  unhappy.  They 
are  quick  for  joy,  and  as  quick  for  sorrow.  A  man 
of  nervous  temperament,  in  good  health,  in  prosper 
ous  condition,  in  peaceful  circumstances,  may  be 
cheerful  and  good-natured.  But  excitements  and 
disappointments  go  hard  with  him.  There  are  some 
men  whose  nerves  seem  not  to  have  been  covered 
up.  They  lie  out  to  the  weather. 


GOOD-NATURED   PEOPLE.  373 

But  phlegmatic  persons  are  good-natured  from  a 
want  of  sensibility.  They  are  not  affected  by  troubles, 
because  they  live  under  bomb-proof  roofs. 

The  sanguine  temperament  affords  the  genuine 
good-natured  disposition.  Here  it  is  natural.  Ev 
erything  conspires  to  produce  cheerfulness,  hopeful 
ness,  and  ardor  of  sentiment. 

But  while  good-nature  in  youth  is  largely  a  mat 
ter  of  nice  organization,  it  becomes  in  age  a  re*sult 
of  will  and  of  habit.  Many  men  are  drilled  to  it 
by  their  experience ;  some  come  to  it  by  the  force 
of  religious  motives ;  and  some  because,  in  the  decay 
of  forces,  many  of  the  unruly  or  discordant  elements 
of  their  nature  are  weakened  and  subordinated. 

But,  however  it  may  come,  or  upon  whatever  terms 
it  may  exist,  how  blessed  are  good-natured  people  ! 
They  only,  of  almost  all  mankind,  have  invariable 
good  luck.  They  convert  trouble  into  amusement. 
Or  they  meet  it  with  such  cheer  that  its  power  is 
broken. 

Good-nature  disarms  enmity,  allays  irritation,  stops 
even  the  garrulity  of  fault-finding.  It  more  than 
half  overcomes  envy.  A  real  good-natured  man  is 
the  most  troublesome  morsel  that  the  malign  pas 
sions  ever  attempt  to  feed  upon.  He  is  the  natural 
superior  of  irritable  persons.  He  that  can  govern 
himself  can  control  others.  An  irritable  man,  whom 
any  one  can  excite,  is  like  a  horse  kept  at  livery, 
ridden  by  every  one,  and  spurred  by  each  rider. 
Nobody  is  so  little  his  own  master  as  he  who  can  be 
stirred  and  provoked  at  another's  will.  Anybody 
can  eject  him  from  his  castle. 

There  is  high  eulogy  pronounced  in  Sacred  Writ 


374  EYES  AND  EARS. 

upon  good-natured  men,  for  such  I  take  to  be  the 
meaning  of  the  passage  in  Proverbs,  "  He  that  is 
slow  to  anger  is  better  than  the  mighty r,  and  he  that 
ruleth  his  spirit  than  he  that  taketh  a  city"  It  is 
harder  to  keep  your  temper  than  to  take  a  city !  It 
shows  more  skill,  foresight,  courage,  and  good  engi 
neering,  especially  in  their  cases  who  are  naturally 
irritable.  They  have  to  provide  beforehand,  to  make 
battle  against  subtle  enemies,  and  often  under  des 
perate  conditions.  But  it  is  worth  all  it  costs. 

Ought  there  not  to  be  associations  for  the  promo 
tion  of  good-nature  ?  Ought  not  premiums  and  tes 
timonials  to  be  given  ?  No  branch  of  education 
stands  more  in  need  of  culture.  None  will  be  at 
once  so  much  of  utility  and  accomplishment  to 
gether!  And  if  some  movement  can  be  made,  will 
you  consent  to  preside  at  some  meeting  for  such  a 
purpose  ?  In  the  earlier  meeting  none  but  men  of 
known  good-nature  should  be  called  together.  Atra 
bilious  reformers  would  ruin  us.  No  man  who  can 
not  keep  a  smile  on  his  face  as  long  as  the  dew  rests 
on  clover  in  a  cloudy  summer  morning  ought  to  be 
intrusted  with  making  the  constitution  and  by-laws. 
After  we  have  secured  a  proper  organization  thus, 
we  might  admit  others  to  our  good-natured  influ 
ences.  Something  ought  to  be  done. 

There  are  a  great  many  cross  men  about  now-a- 
days.  People  are  fault-finding.  Indeed,  I  have  been 
grumbled  at  myself.  Can  anything  more  be  needed 
to  show  the  need  of  reformatory  measures? 


STRAWBERRIES   AND    CREAM.  375 


STRAWBERRIES    AND    CREAM. 

OW  sweet  is  the  air  !  It  is  full  of  moisture, 
smell  of  new  leaves  and  earth-odor.  The 
sky  does  not  scowl !  Neither  does  it  smile. 
It  has  a  grave  and  reverend  aspect.  And 
yet  clouds  are  frolicking  like  kittens,  running  in  and 
out,  whisking  and  scudding  as  if  sent  forth  on  pur 
pose  to  play.  There  is  a  deal  of  waggery  in  a  spring 
rain.  It  seems  to  enjoy  the  untimely  spirts  which  it 
makes  upon  men  and  beasts.  To  catch  a  man  under 
an  umbrella,  —  to  push  him  hither  and  thither,  to 
swing  sheets  of  rain  underneath  his  protection,  and 
finally  to  turn  his  umbrella  inside  out,  wrest  it  from 
his  hands,  and  then  to  pelt  down  upon  him  in  un 
measured  generosity,  appear  to  give  a  spring  rain  the 
utmost  satisfaction.  Another  trick  is  peculiarly  pleas 
ing  to  the  moist  divinities  that  spy  and  play  in  the 
clouds. 

A  wagon  full  of  unprotected  people,  seeing  the 
shower,  make  desperate  speed  toward  a  shed  or  shel 
ter.  A  race  is  fairly  set.  The  rain  scuds  after  them, 
but  holds  off  until  they  are  within  a  few  rods,  then 
down  comes  the  torrent,  and  wets  them  as  thoroughly 
as  if  they  had  travelled  at  their  leisure,  instead  of 
blowing  their  horse  with  tantalizing  speed.  So,  too,  a 
weather-wise  eye  scans  the  clouds  from  the  place  of 
refuge  where  he  has  lurked  snug  and  dry,  and  de 
clares  the  rain  over, — ventures  forth,  and  gets  well 
on  to  the  road,  when,  whish  !  dash  !  the  cunning  show 
er  pours  all  over  him !  Water  will  put  out  fire.  But 


376  EYES  AND  EARS. 

it  has  kindled  temper  a  good  many  times,  or  made  it 
burn  the  fiercer  when  already  kindled.  And  yet  how 
inexpressibly  balmy,  and  how  full  of  mysterious  influ 
ences  is  one  of  these  changing,  multitudinous  days  in 
early  summer ! 

Well,  you  will  ask  me,  "  What  of  all  that  ?  "  Why, 
tli at  I  have  been  up  to  Peekskill ;  that  the  hills  are  all 
clothed  in  green  ;  that  birds  have  improved  since  last 
summer,  and  can  sing  at  least  one  note  higher  on  the 
scale ;  that  frogs  are  practising  on  one  string  in  all 
the  solitary  pools ;  that  squirrels  are  wide  awake,  and 
crows  as  solemn  as  ever.  The  moss  on  the  stone-wall 
has  been  well  kept  through  the  winter,  grass  is  almost 
fit  for  the  scythe,  daisies  are  winking  at  you  all  over 
the  mowing-lot,  wrens  are  gibbering,  hens  cackling, 
ducks  waddling,  calves  frisking,  as  if  all  the  world 
were  at  peace.  Little  seeds  are  sending  up  little 
stems ;  and  little  stems  are  rocking  little  baby-buds, 
which  in  a  few  weeks  will  open  forth  into  beauty. 
The  crops  are  giving  glorious  promise.  There  are 
my  strawberries  !  —  ah,  sir,  it  would  do  your  benevo 
lent  heart  good  just  to  look  at  the  generosity  of  these 
plants  !  The  leaves  !  —  how  large,  what  healthy  green  ! 
—  how  they  hold  themselves,  like  a  roof,  over  the 
young  berries !  Every  day  the  hens  go  up  and  ex 
plore  the  chances.  But  they  shall  not  have  any ! 
They  shall  all  be  shut  up ! 

And  this  harvest  of  strawberries,  —  what  visions  of 
bliss  lie  in  the  near  future !  They  shall  be  picked 
in  great,  cool  dishes,  before  the  sun  rises,  with  dew 
fresh  on  their  blushing  cheeks !  They  shall  be  pulled 
by  delicate  fingers ;  heaped  up  in  saucers  forever  too 
small,  —  great  berries, —  each  one  a  mouthful, —  some 


STRAWBERRIES   AND    CREAM.  377 

to  be  eaten  just  as  they  are,  while  the  red  multitude 
are  to  be  overpoured  with  cream.  Cream !  what  is 
that?  A  pasture,  knee-deep  with  clover,  with  blue- 
grass,  with  orchard  grass,  and  red-top ;  spring  water 
gushing  cool  close  by ;  a  pail,  large,  scoured  white, 
and  brimming  full  with  milk  crowned  with  foam ; 
pans,  bright  as  silver,  in  a  cool,  sweet  cellar,  through 
which  the  air  circulates,  carrying  off  every  gas  or 
odor;  and  then,  after  twelve  hours,  do  not  be  too 
particular,  but  take  that  which  comes  first  on  the 
pan,  —  not  too  long  kept  and  clotted,  not  too  soon 
skimmed  and  thin,  but  cream  that  is  neither  young 
nor  old,  but  a  term  midway  between  both,  —  take 
this,  0  inquisitive  reader !  and  let  your  hand  be  lib 
eral  toward  the  saucer-full  of  Jenny  Lind,  Triumph 
de  Gaud,  Bartlett's  Seedling,  or  Lanier's  Madison, 
and  then,  with  sweet  bread  and  butter,  and  your 
friends  around  you,  eat,  and  pity  the  gods  that  sit 
above  the  clouds  where  they  can't  have  cows  or 
strawberries ! 

But  let  not  those  despair  who  have  no  cream.  Put 
ripe  berries  in  a  dish,  add  a  little  cold  water,  break 
them  down  with  a  spoon  (a  silver  spoon  will  do)  to 
a  jelly,  adding  just  enough  water  and  sugar  to  make 
them  half  liquid,  and  you  shall  find  many  another 
dish  less  delicious  than  strawberries  and  water !  But 
who  can  depict  the  comfits,  the  strawberry  tarts,  the 
pies,  the  puddings,  jams,  and  preserves  which  they 
form?  And  yet,  preserved  strawberries  are  but  a 
mockery.  The  flavor,  the  spirit,  the  aroma,  cannot 
be  kept  by  fire  or  sugar.  The  strawberry  was  born 
to  bless  us  in  its  lifetime.  Its  posthumous  honors 
are,  like  those  of  many  others,  but  dim  and  fugitive 
memories  of  something  that  was,  but  is  not. 


378  EYES  AND  EARS. 

And  now,  having  suitably  opened  this  subject,  I  am 
prepared  to  say,  that  I  defy  you  to  a  trial  of  endur 
ance  and  capacity  in  a  strawberry-feast.  You  shall 
not  return  without  a  strong  battle.  We  will  so  fill 
you,  pelt  you,  stain  you  with  strawberries  that  for  a 
month  thereafter  you  shall  imagine  yourself  to  be  a 
round,  red,  juicy,  fragrant  strawberry  ! 

P.  S.  —  Do  not  publish  this.  I  have  no  objection 
to  its  going  into  the  LEDGEK  in  a  confidential  way. 
But  it  is  a  family  matter  addressed  principally  to  your 
eyes. 


THE    LIFE    OF    FLOWERS. 

]T  is  con-ceded  now,  by  vegetable  physiolo 
gists,  that  plants  have  a  real  life,  —  not  by 
a  figure  of  speech,  not  a  slight  analogy  of 
life,  but  a  real  vegetable  life,  which  con 
nects  them  with  the  long  chain  of  more  perfectly  de 
veloped  life  above  them.  This  it  is  a  great  comfort  to 
know.  Life  without  passions  !  Life  without  selfish 
ness,  envyings,  jealousy,  supplantings,  or  hatred  !  It 
may  to  some  seem  a  little  tame  to  have  such  an  in 
competent  life.  And,  without  a  doubt,  it  would  be  a 
poor  substitute  for  the  higher  animal  life.  But,  with 
it,  and  as  one  department  in  the  great  realm  of 
organic  life,  it  is  intensely  interesting  to  see  a  devel 
opment,  if  not  of  beings,  yet  of  living  agents,  without 
wills,  affections,  or  passions,  producing  such  a  round 
of  magnificent  effects  as  is  found  in  the  vegetable 
kingdom. 


THE  LIFE   OF   FLOWERS.  379 

Bat  to  a  sensitive  imagination,  the  belief  of  this 
life-principle  works  increased  tenderness  toward  flow 
ers.  They  are  now  relatives,  —  if  not  country  cous 
ins,  yet  remote  kindred.  We  plant  them  with  some 
sense  of  the  dignity  of  seeds !  We  nurse  and  tend 
them  as  if  they  were  infant  children.  We  begin  to 
transfer  to  them  the  experience  of  human  life.  They 
must  eat.  They  must  drink.  They  must  perspire. 
They  must  be  kept  clean.  They  must  sleep,  breathe, 
excrete,  and,  in  short,  perform  all  functions  of  supply, 
repair,  and  development. 

But  may  we  not  imagine,  now,  that  as  there  is  a 
vegetable  life  so  there  is  a  vegetable  soul,  which  bears 
to  our  higher  human  soul  about  the  same  relation 
that  the  vegetable  life-principle  does  to  the  animal 
life-principle  ? 

Is  it  so  difficult  to  imagine  (for  we  suggest  it  as  a 
mere  fancy)  that  flowers  represent  different  disposi 
tions  ?  In  human  experience  disposition  springs  from 
affections  or  sentiments.  But  flowers  do  not  think  or 
feel.  Beauty  seems  the  end  of  their  life.  Their 
souls,  if  they  have  any,  must  be  regarded  as  a  modi 
fication  of  this  element  of  beauty.  And  as,  when 
we  speak  of  a  person's  disposition  we  think  of  con 
scious  and  voluntary  feeling,  so,  when  we  speak  of  a 
flower's  disposition,  we  should  think  of  some  ten 
dency  or  active  reaching  toward  beauty,  in  some  of 
its  innumerable  combinations. 

What  the  range  of  such  a  life  is,  it  is  impossible  for 
one  to  conceive.  It  must  not  be  measured  by  our 
estimate  of  beauty,  nor  by  analogies  with  our  sort  of 
life.  Men  are  supreme  egotists.  They  regard  noth 
ing  as  of  value  that  does  not  in  some  way  measure 


380  EYES  AND   EARS. 

itself  by  them.  But  beauty  has  relatively  but  a  small 
function  in  human  life.  It  would  seem  to  play  a 
higher  part  in  the  economy  of  the  universe.  If  the 
profusion  of  things  beautiful,  the  varieties  of  beauty, 
the  creation  of  beauty  outside  of  all  human  recogni 
tion, —  as  in  shells  under  the  wave,  in  fish,  in  insects 
that  live  in  wood  or  earth,  in  tropical  life,  where  the 
most  gorgeous  displays  are  least  witnessed,  in  hyper 
borean  beauty,  in  crystalline  snow-forms  and  frost- 
etchings, —  be  considered,  it  is  plain  that  beauty  is 
developed  in  this  world  on  account  of  the  taste,  or 
want,  or  love,  of  the  organizing  and  creating  mind, 
rather  than  for  the  immediate  necessity  or  use  of  the 
human  race.  Thus,  a  civilized  man,  living  among 
Indians,  might  sit  for  years,  occupying  his  leisure  in 
writing  his  meditations  and  observations,  and  pouring 
out  the  elements  of  a  noble  life,  without  its  having 
relation  to  the  consciousness  or  occupation  of  those 
among  whom  he  outwardly  dwelt.  So  God  may  be 
pouring  out  a  noble  life,  written  in  elements  of  beauty, 
beneath,  above,  around,  and  within  human  life,  and 
yet,  in  so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  little  or  not  at  all 
recognized. 

In  such  a  view,  flowers  may  be  said  to  live  to  God 
more  than  to  men.  And  if  they  are  effecting  a  divine 
mission,  and  having  a  relation  to  the  Divine  mind,  they 
may  have  more  of  a  soul-life  than  we  think  or  dream 
of.  Judged  by  our  standard,  birds  have  very  poor 
language.  But  is  the  human  idea  of  language  the  fit 
one  by  which  to  measure  bird-language  ?  Is  there 
no  listening  except  through  our  ears  ?  Is  there  no 
back-realm,  no  invisible  sphere  through  which  musical 
sounds  move  and  beauty  gleams,  more  freely,  easily, 


THE   LIFE    OF   FLOWERS.  381 

and  copiously  than  through  the  opaque  elements  of 
human  life  ?  And  precisely  the  same  thought  applies 
to  form,  color,  and  odor  in  flower-life. 

How  easily,  then,  may  we  imagine  that  flowers  are 
set  to  develop,  in  this  world,  another  and  entirely 
different  experiment  of  life,  having  its  peculiar  ele 
ments,  its  relations,  more  directly  with  God  and  spir 
its  than  with  men,  and  discovered  to  men  only  so  far 
as  our  gross  senses  can  recognize  them.  Flowers,  as 
such,  can  present  themselves  to  only  two  doors  of  the 
mind,  —  to  sight  and  smell.  The  ear  has  nothing  to 
do  with  them.  Touch  and  taste  are  related  to  them 
in  no  way  that  discriminates  them  from  everything 
else.  The  eye  and  the  nose  at  once,  and  they  only, 
recognize  the  flower  as  differing  from  other  objects. 

In  short,  these  most  exquisite  organizations,  that 
have  so  very  slight  a  kold  on  human  life,  have  been 
created  and  spread,  with  a  Divine  care  and  wisdom, 
in  such  profusion,  and  are  so  full  of  creative  thought 
and  taste,  as  to  compel  us  to  infer  that  they  answer 
a  purpose  quite  beyond  the  ordinary  ideas  of  men. 
Other  beings  are  being  ministered  to  besides  men. 
As  our  eye  glances  over  a  meadow  purpled  with  June, 
it  does  not  follow  that  all  this  gorgeous  life  rises  and 
expends  itself  for  us,  alone  or  chiefly,  or  that  there  is 
no  more  life  in  it  than  so  much  as  our  coarse  senses 
perceive.  Flowers  have  a  life  that  ministers  chiefly 
in  another  direction.  They  are  sent  to  do  God's 
work  in  unrevealed  paths,  and  to  diffuse  influence  by 
channels  that  we  hardly  suspect.  A  lighthouse  upon 
a  promontory  jutting  far  out  into  the  sea,  cannot  tell 
its  keeper  what  it  has  been  doing  all  night.  While 
he  slept,  it  burned  on.  It  flashed  its  beams  far  out 


382  EYES  AND  EARS. 

along  the  beaded  crests  of  waves,  and  fell  upon  the 
eye  of  the  watcher,  —  on  an  Indiaman,  returned  from 
months  of  sailing  out  of  sight  of  land,  —  to  tell  him 
where  he  was, !  and  how  near  to  his  port.  It  cheered 
some  storm-tossed  mariner  that  had  lost  his  reckon 
ing,  and  at  its  flash  first  knew,  for  many  days,  where 
he  was.  It  warned  many  a  sail,  that  then  stood^off 
from  perilous  shoals.  It  confirmed  and  cheered  many 
a  navigator,  who,  as  it  sent  its  beams  forth  to  him, 
knew  that  his  calculations  were  right.  And  so  all 
night  long,  its  long  silent  beams  shot  forth  into  the 
darkness,  conveying  mute  lessons  and  tidings  to  a 
hundred  ocean  craft,  and  yet  it  kept  no  journal,  and 
made  no  report  of  its  doings  ;  and  when,  in  the  morn 
ing,  the  keeper  arose  to  trim  his  dying  lamps,  he 
knew  nothing  of  all  the  mysterious  signallings  that 
had  been  going  on,  —  message*  of  life  and  death,  sent 
on  beams  of  light  through  the  darkness,  to  passers-by 
on  the  far-off  sea. 

Has  God  no  lights  and  signals?  Has  the  unkindled 
glow  of  Beauty  no  relation  to  those  that  pass  by  us 
through  the  invisible  realm  ?  Do  we  that  look  upon 
the  kindled  flowers,  imagine  what  they  have  done,  or 
are  doing,  to  eyes  that  watch  from  afar?  Because 
their  life  is  not  one  fitted  to  commune  with  us,  have 
they  no  life  and  communion  the  other  way? 

Flowers  may  beckon  toward  us,  but  they  speak 
toward  heaven  and  God ! 


CHILDHOOD   AND   DISENCHANTMENT.  383 


CHILDHOOD    AND    DISENCHANTMENT. 

HE  progress  of  disenchantment  marks  the 
advance  and  decline  of  age.  Our  youth 
occupies  itself  unconsciously  in  surrounding 
all  things  with  the  hues  and  proportions  of 
the  imagination.  Mountains  will  never  again  be  so 
large  as  in  childhood,  nor  roads  so  long,  nor  stones  so 
heavy,  nor  colors  so  bright,  nor  distances  so  limitless. 
When  the  ripe  man,  after  years  of  absence,  revisits 
the  scenes  of  childhood,  he  is  disappointed  and  sur 
prised.  Is  it  possible  that  this  little  stone,  which  was 
a  landmark  in  our  games,  ever  seemed  so  vast  as 
it  did? 

Is  this  the  river  —  this  thread  of  silver  water  — 
from  whose  edge  we  used  to  look  fearingly  into  the 
current  ?  And  those  immense  trees,  in  whose  tops 
winter  winds  roared,  and  summer  birds  sang,  can  it 
be  possible  that  they  were .  so  small  as  this  ?  Once  we 
thought  it  a  feat  to  throw  a  stone  up  to  the  middle 
branches  ;  now  to  jerk  one  over  the  top  is  a  mere 
trifle.  The  well  is  not  so  deep  as  it  was,  the  pas 
ture  is  not  so  large,  the  road  to  Aunt  Bull's  not  so 
long,  nor  to  the  brook  beyond  where  we  watered  the 
horse  every  day,  nor  to  the  orchard,  nor  to  Mr.  Bid- 
well's,  nor  clear  round  to  the  pond  ! 

In  like  manner  do  our  wonderful  books  and  won 
derful  heroes  diminish  in  interest  and  importance. 
Robinson  Crusoe  and  Pilgrim's  Progress  alone  hold 
out,  and  are  as  engaging  in  later  years  as  in  earlier. 
But  even  that  incomparable  marvel  and  soul-stirring 


384  EYES   AND   EARS. 

repository  of  wonder,  the  Arabian  Nights,  has  lost 
its  wonderfulness.  We  read  it  with  sadness  to  find 
that  we  are  so  little  interested  where  once  we  were 
intoxicated  with  excitement.  Meanwhile  the  witch 
stories,  the  children's  tales,  the  Jack  the  Giant-Killer 
and  his  compeers,  are  gone  forever. 

If  we  could  array  before  our  judgment  now  the 
wits,  the  skilful  men,  the  strong  men,  that  excited  our 
youthful  admiration,  it  is  very  probable  that  we 
should  turn  them  all  off  as  worth  scarcely  a  thought. 
It  is  said  that  the  strong  man  of  the  town  could  lift  a 
barrel  of  cider  and  drink  from  the  bung.  We  used 
to  imagine  what  a  time  Samson  would  have  had  with 
such  another  giant !  And  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether 
Samson,  with  all  his  strength,  ever  lifted  a  barrel  of 
cider  and  drank  out  of  its  bung. 

In  these  degenerate  days  of  railroads,  stage-coaches 
are  no  longer  the  important  things  they  were  in  our 
childhood.  When  the  horn  sounded,  far  up  the 
street,  where  the  road  comes  into  the  village,  no  mat 
ter  where  we  were,  nor  at  what  play,  we  ran  and 
tumbled  into  the  front-yard  to  see  the  wonder  of  each 
alternate  day.  There  came  the  four  horses,  and  the 
swinging,  round-topped  stage,  —  and  that  great  man, 
the  stage-driver  ! 

If  he  had  commanded  us,  we  verily  believe  we 
should  have  raced  and  chased  the  town  over,  on  his 
errands,  enough  compensated  by  being  under  the 
command  of  a  man  so  wonderful.  Not  Solomon  in 
all  his  glory  was  ever  arrayed  like  one  of  these,  or 
drove  such  horses,  or  had  such  supreme  influence 
upon  the  children  !  And  then,  to  go  down  to  the 
stage-yard,  where  Parks  kept  his  horses ;  to  walk 


CHILDHOOD  AND.  DISENCHANTMENT.       385 

reverently  about  the  new,  red,  magnificent  stage,  to 
look  in  at  the  stable-door  and  see  a  long  row  of  hind 
legs,  and  half  as  many  long  tails  whisking  around 
them,  and  to  wonder  what  was  outside  of  the  door 
beyond,  and  take  to  our  heels  with  desperate  fear 
when  the  hostler,  in  imaginary  anger,  roared  out, 
"  Clear  out,  you  rascals  !  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 
—  these  experiences  weighed  on  our  after  thoughts, 
and  formed  a  part  of  our  boyish  conversations,  and 
were  of  as  much  relative  importance  to  us  then  as 
now  revolutions  and  battles  are. 

But  there  are  some  things  that  lose  nothing,  and 
gain  much.  Those  yearning  thoughts  toward  the  In 
finite  and  the  Eternal,  —  those  solemn  and  trembling 
moods  of  veneration  in  the  presence  of  evident  mani 
festations  of  Divine  Power,  —  those  heart-lovings  to 
ward  noble  friends  who  were  worthy  of  all  that  the  soul 
could  give  them,  —  these  suffer  no  declension  and  no 
diminution.  Age  deepens  veneration  and  love.  Our 
riper  judgment  approves  the  heart's  experience,  and 
adds  new  impressions.  Thus,  it  would  seem  as  if  all 
experiences  that  are  nearly  related  to  the  senses  and 
the  body  wane  as  we  grow  old,  while  those  that  spring 
from  the  soul  inherit  something  of  its  immortality, 
and  neither  fade  with  years,  or  fall  away,  but,  like  all 
the  nobler  faculties  of  the  mind,  grow  brighter  as 
they  advance  toward  the  gate  at  whose  threshold  all 
weakness  ends,  and  perfectness  begins. 


17 


386  EYES   AND   EAKS. 


MY    PICTURE-GALLERY. 

HAVE  seen  the  principal  galleries  of  pic 
tures  in  American  cities,  and  a  few  of  the 
eminent  collections  in  London  and  Paris. 
It  may  seem  to  some  like  vain  and  foolish 
boasting  to  say  that  I  have  a  collection  of  pictures 
far  surpassing  any  at  home  or  abroad.  Yet  I  con 
scientiously  affirm  it.  Of  course,  it  would  be  the 
vice  of  a  curmudgeon  to  shut  up  such  a  collection. 
I  keep  it  open  through  the  day,  and  often  far  into 
night.  No  fee  is  charged  for  admission.  Entrance 
is  permitted  at  all  times,  even  when  a  new  arrange 
ment  of  pictures  is  going  on,  —  for  I  have  so  many 
pictures  that  all  cannot  be  exhibited  at  once,  and 
every  day  I  make  some  fresh  dispositions.  Although 
figure-pieces  largely  outnumber  all  others,  yet  there 
are  admirable  sea-pieces,  ships,  bits  of  landscape,  fine 
cloud  effects,  very  well  executed  trees,  fruit-pieces, 
animals  of  many  kinds,  true  to  life.  Great  pains 
has  been  taken  with  costume.  It  would  be  difficult 
to  find  any  disposition  of  cloth,  from  the  out-blossom 
ing  of  a  beggar's  coat  to  the  heavy  folds  of  velvet 
and  satin,  or  the  fine  plaits  of  linen  and  lace,  that  I 
have  not  on  exhibition.  Will  you  walk  with  me 
and  take  a  mere  cursory  view  ? 

Let  us  go  out  the  front  door  into  the  street. 
There !  see  that  sad  face  coming.  The  artist  under 
took  to  depict  the  expression  of  one  who  had  been 
well  bred,  whose  thoughts  and  feelings  were  refined, 
who  had  for  years  passed  from  reverse  to  reverse ; 


MY    PICTURE-GALLERY.  387 

by  turns  sickness,  or  watchings  for  the  sick ;  poverty 
without  sordidness ;  neglect  of  friends  borne  without 
bitterness  of  spirit ;  and  at  length  age  with  sharp  ills 
that  cripple  the  limbs  and  make  walking  a  slow  tor 
ture.  See  how  gentle  and  even  tranquil  the  face  is ! 
Cheerfulness,  patience,  and  divine  trust  overlie  the 
sharp  features,  as  gold  is  put  along  salient  edges  of 
great  rooms  to  catch  the  light,  and  take  away  a 
sense  of  heaviness  and  gloom.  FrSre  never  painted 
such  a  head.  It  is  a  noble  study,  —  within  and 
without. 

Just  beyond,  and  in  admirable  contrast,  see  that 
group  of  little  girls.  There  are  six  of  them.  The 
eldest  is  ten  years  old.  They  are  full  of  life  and 
motion.  Just  a  shade  of  consciousness  is  falling 
upon  them,  but  no  regulated  vanity  as  yet.  Their 
hair  was  well  brushed,  but  the  wind  has  been  brush 
ing  it  again,  as  it  does  leaves  and  tall  grass,  into  the 
beauty  of  negligence.  Their  cheeks  are  flushed  with 
running.  Would  you  see  how  sweet  and  loving  they 
are  ?  Let  us  walk  along  past  them.  Here  they  come, 
running,  free,  eager,  without  rudeness.  They  seize  me 
by  my  hands,  by  my  arms,  by  my  skirts.  They  look 
up  with  pretty  questions  in  their  mouths  and  inno 
cence  in  their  eyes,  while  one  or  two,  less  acquainted 
or  more  shy,  hang  just  on  the  edge  of  the  group, 
wistful  but  unventuresome.  I  never  tire  of  this  pic 
ture.  And  such  has  been  the  matchless  skill  of  the 
artist  that  it  never  looks  to  me  twice  alike. 

Walk  on.  Look  down  at  your  feet.  Do  you  see 
those  exquisite  effects  ?  The  shadows  of  leaves  and 
branches  are  cast  upon  a  golden  ground  of  sunlight, 
and,  most  wonderful  in  a  picture,  they  move.  These 


388  EYES  AND  EARS. 

long  films  of  shade  that  shift  hither  and  thither  are 
willow  spray.  They  seem  like  shadows  of  spirits. 
How  unlike  the  rigid  forms  and  positive  motion  of 
the  leaves  of  the  linden,  or  fern-leaved  ailanthus,  that 
much-abused,  beautiful  tree.  This  is  an  endless  pic 
ture.  Walk  where  you  may,  and  as  long  as  you 
will,  filmy  shadows,  mottled  with  gold,  move  in  a 
dreamy  maze  upon  the  cold,  gray  stones.  We  walk 
on  pictures.  The  most  delicate  etchings,  the  most 
exquisite  pencil-sketches,  cannot  compare  with  these 
leagues  of  frescoes  under  foot. 

Stop.  Look  up  at  that  window.  Set  as  in  a  frame  is 
a  child's  face,  looking  for  some  expected  father,  and 
just  behind  the  young  mother.  They  do  not  know 
what  a  rare  picture  they  form.  Neither  do  others. 
For,  while  half  behind  a  tree,  to  shield  my  curiosity 
and  interest,  I  look  at  them  and  at  the  passers-by, 
scarcely  one  looks  up,  and  then  but  a  single  glance ; 
and  yet  Reynolds  never  composed  so  sweet  a  figure, 
in  such  exquisite  color,  with  such  beautiful  expression. 
Notice,  by  the  curbstone  yonder,  that  German  woman 
with  a  cart  drawn  in  part  by  two  dogs.  The  hand 
cart  is  full  of  half-burnt  coal  and  cinders.  What 
grizzly  dogs,  fierce  and  harsh  to  every  strange  comer ; 
but  how  lovingly  do  they  spring  and  tug  to  reach  their 
mistress  as  she  comes  out,  dusty,  grimed,  weather- 
tanned,  with  her  fragments  of  fuel !  And  she  !  Five 
hundred  people  will  go  past  her,  and  she  will  not  know 
it.  She  is  as  separate  from  this  crowd  of  life  as  if  she 
were  a  carved  stone,  or  a  growing  tree.  Her  thoughts 
and  theirs  have  no  more  acquaintance  than  have  the 
birds  in  the  air  with  the  fish  in  the  sea.  And  yet 
there  is  a  voice  at  home  that  will  call  out  to  her,  and, 


MY   PICTURE-GALLERY.  389 

with  strange  resurrection,  up  from  this  hard  exterior 
will  come  the  glow,  the  love,  the  yearning  sympathy 
of  motherhood  !  In  the  streets,  dogs,  dirt,  and  wo 
man  ;  in  the  house,  mother  and  babe !  and  the  dif 
ference  is  that  of  before  and  after  resurrection ! 

Here  go  the  misses  to  school !  In  twos  and  threes 
the  street  is  lighted  up  with  faces  and  beautiful 
colors !  If  I  were  a  rich  man,  I  would  build  a 
mansion,  and  have  never  less  than  a  thousand  chil 
dren  under  care.  To  pass  the  age  of  twelve  should 
be  the  fault  for  which  expulsion  should  be  visited. 
But  there  falls  a  broad  shadow  on  the  street.  Look 
up.  It  is  one  of  those  unfolding  banks  of  white,  full 
of  lines  and  cinctures  of  gray.  Is  it  a  tabernacle 
holding  spirits  within  ?  Or  is  it  some  island  floated 
off  from  ethereal  realms  ?  Or  is  this  a  caravan  such  as 
move  through  the  highways  of  the  air,  freighted  with 
treasures  to  some  provincial  star,  in  which  odors  and 
essences  have  given  out  ?  The  shadow  moves  slowly 
down  the  street,  colors  fade  out,  the  tracing  of  leaves  on 
the  path  is  effaced,  grays  gain  ground  and  white  van 
ishes,  until  that  yellow  flood  behind,  following  close, 
pours  the  tide  of  sunlight  again  on  all  the  street  ! 

There  moves  a  funeral,  —  twenty  Carriages;  and, 
except  in  the  first,  all  seem  to  take  a  cheerful  view 
of  death  —  in  others.  The  sexton  and  undertaker  is 
in  his  glory.  He  rides  in  front,  as  if  he  returned  in 
triumph  from  the  war.  To  him  death  means  fees, 
gloves,  scarfs,  and  a  spectacle  arranged  in  the  very 
best  taste  for  grief.  Vanity  and  money  go  up  to  the 
very  gates  of  immortality.  The  doctor  had  professional 
curiosity  in  the  act  of  death ;  the  nurse  is  vain  of 
the  number  whom  she  has  laid  out,  and  this  is  only 


390  EYES  AND  EARS. 

one  more !  The  man  that  made  the  coffin  is  vain 
of  the  work ;  the  sexton  is  vain  of  the  whole  job ;  the 
grave-digger  looks  with  complacent  eye  on  the  grave, 
dug,  he  assures  you,  better  than  by  any  other  op 
erator  in  that  line,  and  in  half  the  time.  There  was 
much  meaning  in  the  Apostle's  sentence,  "  It  is  sown 
in  corruption  and  in  dishonor  ana  in  darkness." 

Here  comes  a  nurse,  with  a  plump  babe  in  a  little 
carriage,  —  another  sort  of  procession,  from  death  to 
life  this  is  going.  Five  steps  behind,  the  young 
mother,  herself  fair  and  but  a  girl ;  yet  would  you 
please  her?  Look  at  her  child,  and  look  again. 

But  you  grow  tired  of  looking  at  pictures  ?  Well, 
it  is  tiresome.  There  are  too  many  for  once.  Let 's 
go  back,  forget  what  we  have  seen,  look  on  some  paint 
and  canvas,  and  be  filled  with  enthusiasm  !  For  men 
admire  men  and  their  works  more  than  God  and  his 
works.  It  is  but  a  part  of  human  egotism. 


FAIRY   MUSIC. 

MOSQUITO  has  an  intense  individuality. 
Others  of  insects  there  are  that  love  plun 
der,  that  will  shed  blood  to  secure  their 
ends,  that  are  prowlers  in  the  night.  But 
this  only  of  all  these  adventurers  commits  indecent 
depredations  under  the  color  of  the  Fine  Arts. 

Gnats,  fleas,  bed-bugs,  chiggers,  and  other  things 
that  shall  be  nameless,  make  a  business  of  supplying 
their  hunger,  without  refinement,  without  the  accom- 


FAIRY   MUSIC.  391 

paniments  of  conversation,  or  any  refinements  whatso 
ever.  It  is  mere  appetite.  But  a  mosquito  will  not 
gorge  himself  for  the  sake  of  eating.  He  first  offers 
you  a  song.  He  will  exhibit  you  many  feats  of  dex 
terity.  He  is  a  good  gymnast,  and  nimble  enough. 
Your  first  intimation  of  his  presence  is  the  finest  of 
audible  sounds,  as  if  he  had  strung  a  gossamer  upon 
his  violin,  and  was  sounding  the  scale  far  up  in  those 
tones  which  end  the  earthly  scale  and  join  on  to  the 
ethereal  sounds  too  fine  for  gross  mortal  ears.  It 
draws  nearer.  It  is  not  a  dull  monotone.  His  swift 
flight  and  a  habit  of  excursion  give  to  his  music  the 
variable  and  intermitting  effects  noticed  in  an  JSolian 
harp,  —  now  loud,  now  soft,  now  near,  and  now  far 
distant.  It  is  this  variety,  among  other  things,  that 
gives  such  effect  to  his  music.  Many  persons  that 
do  not  listen  to  common  music  listen  instantly  when 
ever  they  hear  his.  Persons  without  any  natural 
musical  ear  can  detect  to  a  nicety  every  note  of  this 
airy  musician,  and  often  he  sets  them  to  beating  time 
for  him. 

Some  have  supposed  that  the  mosquito  was  of  a 
devout  turn,  and  never  would  partake  of  a  meal  with 
out  saying  grace  ;  but  that  can  hardly  be,  so  long  is 
the  ceremony,  unless  he  be  imagined  a  Puritan,  ad 
dicted  to  excessive  length  of  service.  Others  suppose 
him  a  gallant,  out  on  a  serenade,  singing  gayly  to 
some  fair  one  ;  or  some  roysterer,  returning  home 
from  too  convivial  a  meeting,  and  singing  ditties  and 
snatches  as  he  goes.  But  no  one  who  will  examine 
this  gentle  creature  can  hold  these  theories.  He  is 
spare,  which  indicates  temperate  habits.  He  is  slight 
and  slender,  and  may  be  a  little  vain  of  his  figure ; 


392  EYES  AND  EARS. 

but  the  sober  gray  of  his  dress  shows  that  he  is  not 
a  vain  beau. 

I  am,  upon  profound  meditation,  satisfied  that  the 
mosquito  has  a  natural  voice  ;  that,  like  the  nightin 
gale  and  whippoorwill,  he  sings  of  preference  at 
night ;  and  that  blood-sucking  is  but  an  accident, 
while  the  fine  arts  are  the  true  aim  of  his  being.  The 
great  populous  world  of  mosquitos  never  touch  meats. 
They  are  born  to  vegetable  juices.  They  are  a  refined 
and  tiny  species  of  vegetarians. 

We  all  know  that  a  mosquito  is  born  in  the  water. 
He  is  not  of  a  turbulent  disposition,  and  does  not 
affect  unquiet  waters,  but  still  pools  and  stagnant  res 
ervoirs.  Here  he  first  appears  as  a  horizontal  wrig 
gler.  Shortly  he  mounts  to  the  surface,  to  see  if  he 
can  in  some  way  get  ashore.  In  lack  of  better  means, 
he  strips  off  his  skin,  tucks  it  under  him  as  a  float, 
pulls  out  from  their  folds  a  nice  pair  of  wings,  for 
which  he  had  no  use  when  under  water,  and  holds 
them  up  to  dry  in  the  sun.  This  is  the  crisis  of  his 
being.  Before  he  got  at  his  wings,  before  he  stript 
off  his  water-proof  garments,  he  was  nowhere  so  much 
at  home  as  in  the  water.  But  now,  while  he  is  sailing 
on  its  surface  with  his  skin-boat  under  him,  should  a 
puff  of  wind  upset  him,  all  is  over.  The  element  that 
nourished  him  an  hour  before  would  now  drown  him. 
His  whole  success  in  life  depends  upon  a  still  and 
dry  hour,  in  which  to  get  his  legs  stretched  and  his 
wings  ironed  out.  But  once  let  him  rise,  and  now 
"  the  world  is  all  before  him  where  to  choose  "  !  His 
first  preference,  next  of  course  to  music,  is  vegetable 
juice.  He  banquets  on  the  sap  of  tender  herbaceous 
stems.  He  seeks  the  shadows  of  underbrush,  of 


FAIRY   MUSIC.  393 

weedy  nooks,  of  forests ;  and  here,  for  the  most  part, 
he  passes  his  tranquil  life  in  airy  music. 

As  there  are  some  adventurers  even  in  the  most 
moral  societies,  so  there  are  some  restless  mosquitos, 
who  disdain  advice,  breaking  from  the  traditions  and 
customs  of  the  fathers,  and  wander  into  by  and  forbid 
den  paths.  Such  enter  houses  without  leave,  go 
without  knocking  into  chambers,  and  spy  out  other 
people's  business.  But,  even  then,  a  mosquito  cannot 
forget  the  elegance  of  his  native  tastes.  His  flute,  if 
it  be  a  flute  that  he  blows,  or  viol,  if  it  be  stringed 
music  that  we  nightly  hear,  is  his  constant  compan 
ion.  Some  rude  and  indiscriminating  people  have 
called  him  the  pirate  of  the  night.  Whenever  did  a 
pirate  preface  his  deeds  of  blood  with  music  ?  No. 
My  own  impression  is,  that  the  mosquito  comes  on  a 
serenading  errand.  He  brings  you  music.  It  is  be 
nevolence,  it  is  a  love  of  harmonious  numbers,  that 
inspires  him.  And  yet  old  harpers,  after  their  strains, 
expected  a  full  cup  of  ruby  wine.  And  our  tiny 
singer,  being  thirsty,  alights  upon  the  first  succulent 
thing  to  slake  his  thirst.  But  that  is  a  mere  accident. 
That,  after  drawing  blood,  they  may  be  perverted,  I 
do  not  deny.  There  is  much  blood  in  the  world  that 
would  turn  the  head  of  stronger  creatures  than  nios- 
quitos. 

But,  my  dear  Mr.  Bonner,  mosquitos  cannot  be 
treated  fitly  without  some  allusion  to  the  conduct  of 
persons  visited  by  them.  Admit  that  they  are  dis- 
sigreeable  ;  what  do  you  think  they  would  say  of  us, 
were  they  to  write  for  the  LEDGER?  Let  my  next 
take  up  this  subject  again.  Do  you  object  to  mosqui 
tos  in  the  LEDGER  ? 


394  EYES  AND   EARS. 


MOSQUITOS.    No.    2. 

HE  day  has  been  too  hot.  The  night  is  sul 
try.  You  are  nervous  and  restless.  No 
place  so  good  as  the  bed,  and  to  the  cham 
ber  you  repair,  hoping  soon  to  lose  all 
remembrance  of  your  cares  and  troubles  in  sleep. 
The  light  is  extinguished,  and  you  resign  yourself 
to  the  pleasing  sensations  of  approaching  rest.  When 
lo  !  a  thin,  piercing  sound  salutes  you !  It  needs  no 
interpretation.  It  is  a  mosquito  come  a-serenading. 
Is  there  any  trumpet  that  can  wake  a  nervous  man 
more  quickly  or  more  entirely  ?  Every  sense  is 
attent.  Now  the  sound  comes  near,  now  recedes, 
now  it  is  lost.  It  soon  comes  again,  and,  watching 
your  opportunity,  you  give  yourself  a  broad  slap 
upon  the  face,  hoping  that  the  mosquito  shared  it 
with  you !  For  a  moment  he  seems  dead.  You 
experience  a  minute  satisfaction  of  petty  revenge. 
But  soon  the  inevitable  sound  comes  again,  but  with 
a  hither  and  thither  motion.  You  are  acutely  atten 
tive.  This  time,  to  make  sure,  your  hand  is  disen 
gaged,  and  lies  outside  of  the  coverlet,  ready  for  a 
surprising  blow.  He  alights.  You  feel  his  delicate 
touch  upon  your  forehead.  Quicker  than  winking, 
your  hand  follows  him  with  such  a  slap  as  makes 
the  room  echo.  But  he  is  quicker  than  you  are, 
and  besides,  sees  in  darkness  much  better.  He  is 
off  like  a  sprite,  and  sings  and  pipes  in  a  distant  cor 
ner.  By  this  time  you  are  quite  excited, — you  dis 
course  :  "  The  thief  (some  men  put  naughty  adjec- 


MOSQUITOS.  395 

tives  before  the  noun),  if  he  would  hold  his  peace 
and  come  and  eat  his  fill,  and  be  off,  he  should  be 
welcome.  But  the  intolerable  piping  is  worse  than 
a  surgeon's  lancet."  Suppose,  my  friend,  that  you 
should  get  up,  light  the  gas,  hunt  for  him!  You 
had  better  close  the  blinds,  for,  however  suitable 
your  condition  may  be  in  itself  considered,  yet,  if 
seen  from  a  neighbor's  window,  a  night-capped  man 
in  search  of  a  mosquito,  at  twelve  at  night,  en  dis 
habille,  must  subject  himself  to  some  ridicule.  There, 
now,  return  to  your  work.  You  cannot  find  him? 
After  all,  perhaps  that  last  slap  did  the  business  for 
him.  It  certainly  did  for  you.  See  how  red  your 
much-abused  face  is !  Why  not  let  him  take  a  little 
blood  out  of  it  ?  It  would  be  improved. 

The  hero  returns  to  his  couch,  and  the  tiny  foe 
returns  to  the  hero.  Again  the  horn  sounds,  again 
he  strikes  out  at  him,  and  again  misses.  At  length, 
tired  out,  the  victim  falls  asleep.  The  little  trum 
peter  draws  near  and  sounds  a  challenge.  He  cir 
cuits  all  about,  and  sings  every  note  in  his  serenade. 
At  length  he  alights  upon  a  chosen  spot,  and  hav 
ing  satisfied  his  hunger,  retires  to  some  dark  corner, 
overswollen,  to  collapse  and  die. 

All  this  would  not  be  worth  telling  but  for  its 
application.  I  see  on  every  hand  men  engaged  in 
beating  themselves  on  account  of  fears,  cares,  frets, 
and  petty  annoyances. 

The  mother  sits  by  her  child  slightly  ill.  She 
imagines  all  possible  evils,  —  she  torments  herself  for 
hours  and  days  at  possible,  but  improbable  results. 
It  is  a  mosquito  game.  The  real  evil  is  petty,  and 
if  quietly  taken  would  soon  cease  of  itself.  But  she 


EYES   AND  EARS. 

must  punish  herself  by  every  ingenious  imagination. 
Love  has  its  mosquitos.  How  many  sounds  does 
jealousy  hear.  How  many  dreads  does  anxious  love 
breed.  How  many  nameless  fears,  and  how  many 
"what  ifs." 

Much  of  the  anxiety  of  business  is  mere  musquito- 
hunting.  When  I  see  a  man  pale  and  anxious,  not 
for  what  has  happened,  but  for  what  may  happen,  I 
say,  "  Strike  your  own  face,  do  it  again,  and  keep 
doing  it,  for  there  is  nothing  else  to  hit." 

Everybody  has  his  own  mosquitos,  that  fly  by  night 
or  bite  by  day.  There  are  few  men  of  nerves  firm 
enough  to  calmly  let  them  bite.  Most  men  insist 
upon  flagellating  themselves  for  the  sake  of  not  hit 
ting  their  troubles. 


BOOK-KEEPING. 

OMEBODY  has  sent  to  me  a  very  nice  book 
on  Book-keeping.  And  no  book  could  have 
been  more  timely.  There  is  no  other  point 
on  which  I  have  a  more  lively  interest  than 
that  of  keeping  books.  In  fact,  I  have  found  it  very 
difficult  to  get  them,  and  still  more  difficult  to  keep 
them.  There  seems  to  be  no  conscience  formed  as  to 
book  theft.  It  is  doubtful  whether  any  indictment 
could  be  made  to  lie  against  a  man  for  such  an  act  as 
borrowing  and  keeping  your  book.  It  is  rather  a 
mark  of  confidence.  He  thus  says,  "  Ah,  he  is  my 
friend,  and  he  will  not  expect  me  to  carry  the  book 


BOOK-KEEPING.  39T 

again  to  him.  When  he  wants  it  he  will  come  after 
it.  We  always  have  things  in  common. "  Pencils, 
umbrellas,  canes,  and  books  are  not  property.  They 
cannot  be  appropriated  by  one  man  as  owner.  They 
belong  to  the  category  in  which  is  included  air,  light, 
water,  and  fire  ;  who  wants  them  may  have  them.  I 
will  not  say  that  this  is  yet  the  written  law.  It  is  the 
common  law. 

Books  ?  The  only  bodies  are  they  for  noble  spirits, 
that  have  no  ailments  or  annoyances.  Books  talk  to 
you,  not  through  the  ear,  but  another  way.  They 
shout  their  silent  meaning  at  the  soul  through  the 
eye.  They  never  importune,  and  are  never  reluctant. 
They  are  always  full  without  eating.  They  are  still, 
but  never  sleep.  They  grow  old  without  infirmity. 
They  are  neither  sick  nor  weary ;  they  outwatch  the 
watcher,  and  greet  the  morning,  and  wait  for  the  stars 
at  evening.  For  every  other  guest  we  make  a  couch 
and  spread  a  table.  But  strange  are  the  manners  of 
books  and  pictures,  that  bring  rest  to  our  pertur 
bations,  and  are  guests  that  perform  all  the  offices  of 
hospitality  for  the  host. 

Why  should  they  be  singled  out  for  theft  ?  When 
my  spoons  disappear,  there  is  at  least  a  pleasure  in 
saying,  "  A  thief  has  got  them."  But  even  that  pleas 
ure  is  denied  me  when  books  appear  no  more. 

Once  there  came  an  artist  with  letters  of  renown 
from  a  friend.  He  needed  help.  A  fine  copy  had  I 
of  "  Stuart's  Athens,"  uncut,  large  paper,  early  im 
pressions.  So  gladly  and  greedily  did  he  devour  the 
matter  therein,  that  I  was  beguiled,  tempted  of  the 
Devil,  to  offer  to  let  him  take  the  precious  volumes 
to  his  room,  the  better  to  ease  his  tasks  and  help  his 


398  EYES  AND  EARS. 

toil.  He  took  them.  He  thanked  me  much,  and  his 
face  glowed.  The  volumes  were  large  —  three  —  and 
heavy ;  —  they  ought  to  be,  since  they  had  the  Par 
thenon  in  them,  and  the  whole  Acropolis,  and  many 
temples  to  boot.  He  went,  they  went,  four  years 
went,  and  he  never  returned,  nor  have  the  books 
returned  !  They  are  gone  !  That  thief  of  an  artist 
—  I  sigh  for  revenge.  Could  I  have  and  hold  him, 
he  should  be  shut  up  in  a  book-case  for  indefinite 
years,  and  be  sentenced  to  read  Tupper  or  Wise's 
Letters.  No.  I  relent.  Not  the  last.  Punishments 
may  be  severe,  but  should  never  be  cruel. 

How  many  first  volumes  are  gone  ?  What  is  a 
widowed  volume  ?  0  that  they  would  take  the  set 
if  they  will  take  any  !  The  surprise  of  their  "  taking 
off"  conies  to  you  too  at  unexpecting  moments.  You 
are  discussing  with  a  friend  of  some  matter ;  there 
is  illustration  or  proof  in  Kugler's  Handbook.  You 
run  for  it,  and  then  first  learn  that  it  is  gone  !  That 
gem  from  Didot's  press,  —  all  that  you  know  of  it  is, 
it  was  here,  it  is  not  here,  and  it  never  will  be  here. 
That  last  clause  is  the  result  of  long  experience.  If 
a  book  is  poor,  it  is  not  worth  the  trouble  of  return 
ing  ;  if  good,  it  is  too  valuable  to  be  returned. 

When  we  are  Pope,  we  intend  to  make  great 
changes  in  the  Creeds  and  Articles.  Stealing  books, 
i.  e.  borrowing  them,  shall  be  put  among  the  mortal 
sins,  and  private  revenge  upon  stealers  of  books  shall 
be  venial,  under  a  very  slight  tariff. 

Then,  when  we  are  Emperor,  we  intend,  every  year, 
to  require  each  man  in  the  empire  who  can  read  and 
write,  to  make  solemn  search  of  his  household,  and  to 
file  an  affidavit  that  there  is  not  remaining  with  him 


BOOK-KEEPING.  399 

a  borrowed  book !  Thus  I  would  reinstate  the  old 
Jubilee  ;  only  for  men,  it  was  once  in  seven,  and  once 
in  fifty  years  :  but  for  books  it  should  come  as  often 
as  Thanksgiving,  Christmas,  and  New  Year's  come  ! 

My  dear  Mr.  Bonner,  you  will  now  understand 
how  delighted  I  was  to  perceive  that  this  subject  was 
attracting  attention  and  that  treatises  were  written 
upon  it.  "  Book-Keeping  "  — for  schools,  too,  it  says. 
That 's  beginning  at  the  right  place  !  I  have  not  read 
the  book  yet;  but  any  attempt  to  rectify  this  great 
evil  of  books  that  cannot  be  kept  must  do  good.  I 
commend  them  to  Sabbath  schools.  "  Practical  Book 
keeping."  Admirable  theme  !  Much-needed  reform! 
"Embracing,"  saith  the  cover,  "  single  and  double 
entry."  This  is  obscure.  "Entry,?"  does  this  refer 
to  the  act  of  entering  once  and  twice  for  books? 
Why  limit  it  to  single  and  double ;  why  not  say  ten 
and  twenty  times  entry?  Men  that  will  take  one 
volume  would  take  twenty  if  they  could ;  if  they 
come  once,  they  come  twenty  times. 

But  perhaps  this  is  explained  in  the  book.  I  shall 
read  it  soon.  No  doubt  it  will  be  another  excellent 
moral  aid  to  weak  consciences.  The  work  that  will 
teach  me  BOOK-KEEPING,  will  do  what  nothing  has 
done  before.  I  cannot  keep  money.  I  cannot  keep 
books.  Blessed  is  he  that  shall  teach  me  how ! 


400  EYES   AND   EARS. 


SPEAKING-HALLS. 

ARGE  rooms,  or  halls,  for  public  meetings 
are  not  to  be  regarded  merely  as  convenien 
ces  ;  they  are  institutions  of  instruction. 
And  that  quite  independently  of  the  mere 
knowledge  that  is  dispensed  in  them.  Our  system  of 
government  demands  of  its  people  the  habit  of  confer 
ence  ,  of  frequent  assembly  for  consideration  of  com 
mon  interests.  Whatever  tends  to  bring  people  to 
gether  in  peaceable  ways,  to  elicit  their  thoughts,  to 
move  them  with  common  sentiments,  or  to  inspire 
them,  even  for  an  hour,  with  feelings  common  to  them 
all,  alike  and  together,  confers  a  great  benefit.  It  is 
on  this  account  that  convenient  and  inviting  public 
halls  are  a  means  of  education.  They  furnish  also 
places  of  entertainments,  for  fairs,  social  assemblies, 
for  the  meetings  of  societies,  lodges,  and  associations. 
Whatever  brings  our  people  peaceably  together  does 
them  good.  In  our  climate,  and  with  our  national 
habits,  the  open  air  meetings  of  Southern  Europe,  the 
fetes-champetres,  cannot  be  expected,  and  provision 
must  be  made  under  shelter. 

Churches  and  town-halls  were  the  earliest  provisions 
for  popular  gatherings.  Pleasure  next  opened  ball 
rooms  and  concert-rooms.  But  it  is  to  the  lecture 
system  that  we  are  indebted  more  than  to  any  other 
influence  for  the  rapid  progress  made  within  ten  years 
in  building  spacious  and  elegant  public,  halls.  Ten  or 
fifteen  years  ago,  and,  except  in  a  few  of  the  principal 
cities,  no  hall  could  be  found  which  would  now  be 


SPEAKING-HALLS.  401 

deemed  respectable.  Now,  in  all  the  larger  towns, 
and  in  many  villages  even,  we  find  large  and  conven 
ient  audience-rooms.  And  much  more  attention  is 
every  year  bestowed  upon  warming,  lighting,  and  ven 
tilating  them.  As  yet  but  few  answer  all  the  prime 
conditions  of  a  good  hall.  These  indispensable  condi 
tions  are,  —  strength  of  structure,  ease  of  entrance  and 
exit,  abundance  of  light,  that  yet  does  not  dazzle  the 
eyes,  the  means  of  regulating  the  temperature,  good 
speaking  qualities,  and,  lastly,  but  eminently,  ventila 
tion. 

It  is  simply  a  piece  of  wantonness  to  build  an  en 
trance-way  so  small  that,  upon  alarm  of  fire,  the 
audience  could  not  easily  clear  the  hall  without  crush 
ing  and  trampling  each  other.  In  no  other  thing  is 
economy  more  culpable.  Every  hall  should  have  an 
exit  and  vomitory  at  each  end,  and,  if  large  enough  to 
hold  two  thousand  people,  there  should  be  side  open 
ings  also.  Even  in  times  without  alarm,  the  jamming 
and  pushing  of  people  wedged  together  in  narrow 
passages  is  an  outrage,  not  only  upon  convenience,  but 
upon  propriety.  It  ought  to  be  made  a  matter  of  leg 
islation.  The  law  should  require  a  definite  relation 
between  the  containing  power  of  the  hall  and  the  pas 
sages  and  vomitories. 

The  lighting  needs  less  reformation,  since  in  all 
large  rooms  gas  is  introduced.  But  much  improve 
ment  may  take  place  in  the  disposition  of  the  flame. 
When  the  jets  are  lifted  up  toward  the  ceiling,  ar 
ranged  either  along  the  cornice  or  in  central  clusters, 
with  suitable  openings  for  the  passing  off  of  heat  and 
smoke,  they  afford  the  most  agreeable  light.  But 
when  this  cannot  be  done,  all  strong  lights  at  the  end 


402  EYES   AND   EARS. 

where  the  speaker  stands  should  be  avoided.  They 
are  a  source  of  great  suffering  to  many,  and  of  annoy 
ance  to  all. 

It  is  the  practice,  frequently,  to  place  on  the  lec 
turer's  desk  an  Argand  lamp,  or  a  camphene  lamp,  or 
other  intense  flame,  as  if  the  only  thing  required  was, 
light  enough.  These  glaring  and  intense  lights  put 
out  the  speaker's  eyes,  and  the  hearers'  too.  They 
are  intolerable.  It  is  literally  true,  that  they  prevent 
one's  seeing  his  manuscript ;  for,  by  dazzling  the  eye, 
and  heating  the  head,  they  produce  indistinctness  of 
vision.  The  best  of  all  lights  are  simply  a  pair  of 
sperm  candles !  They  give  abundance  of  light,  they 
throw  it  just  where  you  need  it,  they  do  not  blear  the 
speaker's  eyes,  nor  dazzle  the  audience ;  they  require 
no  snuffing,  can  be  moved  easily,  and  may  be  pro 
cured  in  any  village. 

Of  ventilation  we  almost  despair.  What  good  will 
words  do,  when  stench,  stupidity,  fainting,  and  half- 
suffocation  do  not  avail  ?  Only  this  week,  on  the  10th 
of  December,  we  spoke  in  the  hall  of  one  of  our  best 
old  New  England  towns,  where  every  person  in  the 
room  was  poisoned  by  the  foul  air.  Nothing  fresh 
could  get  in,  and  nothing  foul  could  get  out.  It  has 
been  so  for  several  years,  and  will  continue  to  be  so. 
People  in  other  things  sensible,  and  public-spirited, 
seem  to  be  infatuated  on  this  subject.  Bad  air  seems 
to  be,  if  not  a  luxury,  a  necessary  of  life. 

Even  when  ventilation  is  attempted,  it  is  often  with 
an  ignorance  that  is  ludicrous.  We  once  were  gravely 
pointed  by  a  committee-man  to  the  efforts  made  for 
ventilating  a  hall  capable  of  holding  twelve  hundred 
people.  And  what  was  it  ?  A  round  hole  not  above 


CONVERSATIONAL   FAULTS.  403 

eight  inches   in   diameter !      This   was   expected   to 
change  the  air  for  twelve  hundred  people. 

Perhaps,  at  another  time,  we  will  mention  some  of 
the  best  speaking-halls  in  the  country. 


CONVERSATIONAL    FAULTS. 

|YERY  child  is  early  admonished  of  the  rude 
ness  of  interrupting  a  person  while  speak 
ing.  But  why  this  caution  should  be  con 
fined  to  children  we  cannot  imagine.  Their 
rudeness  is  the  least  provoking  of  any.  It  is  the 
exhibitions  that  we  meet  in  genteel  society  that  mar 
our  comfort  most  and  excite  our  surprise.  And 
among  adults  we  learn  to  be  patient  with  impetuous 
natures,  whose  strong  and  ungoverned  feelings,  touched 
by  some  spark  in  your  words,  go  off  like  bombs,  past 
all  power  of  restraint. 

But  the  aggravated  offenders  are  those  who  inter 
ject  your  conversation  with  comments  and  hints,  or 
vexatious  corrections,  or  meddling  smartness,  and  so 
take  from  you  all  pleasure  of  fluency.  Just  as  you 
are  coming  to  the  nub  of  a  story,  they  quietly  drop  a 
sentence  which  tells  the  whole,  and  leave  you  with 
only  the  mortifying  remnants.  Is  it  a  jest  that  is 
loaded  and  in  your  hand  ?  They  slyly  step  behind 
you  and  pull  the  trigger,  leaving  you  empty  as  an 
exploded  gun-barrel. 

Sometimes  a  single  word,  like  a  drop  of  ink  in  a 
tumbler  of  water,  will  change  the  color  of  a  whole 


404  EYES   AND   EARS. 

statement.  You  cannot  repel  it,  nor  answer  it,  for 
it  attacks  nothing,  says  nothing  positively,  but  only 
fixes  in  the  mind  certain  suggestions. 

There  is  an  inflection  of  this  evil,  equally  vexatious. 
It  is  when  a  shrewd  lip  comments  in  your  ear,  whis- 
peringly,  or  aside,  upon  the  remarks  or  address  to 
which  you  are  listening.  It  may  be  that  you  are  not 
of  a  retentive  countenance.  A  ludicrous  word,  dropped 
just  right,  sets  you  into  a  laugh,  irresistible  just  in 
proportion  to  its  impoliteness.  You  seem  to  mock 
the  person  speaking,  while  the  arch-whisperer  sits 
demurely,  without  blame,  as  innocent  as  a  dove. 

Yet  less  bearable  are  the  comments  of  conceited 
persons,  upon  some  performance  to  which  you  wish 
to  give  your  attention.  While  a  symphony  is  per 
forming,  they  interpolate  it ;  "  Sublime,"  "  Fine,  very 
fine,  don't  you  think  so  ?  "  "  Rather  dull,  that."  Dur 
ing  a  discourse  they  are  perpetually  setting  their 
remarks  upon  your  ears,  bringing  you  back  to  con 
sciousness,,  and  to  contempt.  They  sing  in  your  ears 
like  mosquitos,  they  alight  upon  you  as  flies  in  sum 
mer-days,  only  you  are  debarred  the  pleasure  of  aim 
ing  a  good  slap  at  them.  It  is  seriously  to  be  con 
sidered  whether  this  is  not  a  case  where  a  hearty  box 
on  the  ear  would  not  be  entirely  proper,  moral,  and 
reformatory  ? 

But  there  is  another  rudeness  which,  if  less  fre 
quent,  is  equally  annoying.  It  is  the  rudeness  of 
the  talker  and  not  of  the  interrupter.  Many  will 
ask  you  a  question  and  answer  it  themselves ;  they 
will  find  fault  with  you,  and  race  forward  with  re 
marks  so  as  to  prevent  any  explanation ;  nay,  they 
will  aggravate  the  matter  by  putting  stupid  replies 


CONVERSATIONAL   FAULTS.  405 

into  your  mouth,  and  then  answering  them.  "  Don't 
speak,  —  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  —  but  it 
is  not.  so,  for,"  —  &c.,  &c. 

Many  persons  have  a  very  cool  way  of  seeing  what 
you  think,  and  insisting  upon  it ;  —  they  saw  it  in 
your  eyes,  or  in  your  face,  and  will  permit  no  denial. 
Sometimes  you  are  caught  upon  a  turbulent  stream 
of  talk  which  sweeps  you  down  in  the  most  ludicrous 
way.  You  are  whirled  round,  and  soused,  and  over 
whelmed  with  the  rushing  talk,  which  you  cannot 
answer  or  get  rid  of  or  modify.  At  a  table,  or  in 
car  or  boat,  a  man  of  opposite  politics  pours  at  you 
for  a  half-hour,  misstating  your  position,  charging 
you  with  all  manner  of  absurdities,  exaggerating 
facts,  and  abusing  you  and  your  friends  and  your 
party,  and  all  the  world  generally,  while  you  are 
like  a  man  being  played  on  by  a  fire-engine,  —  dish 
evelled,  soused,  half-smothered,  and  rolled  up  into  a 
ridiculous  heap. 

Ought  not  some  mark  to  be  put  upon  such  men,  to 
warn  every  one  of  their  danger  ?  We  mark  danger 
ous  places  on  the  highway ;  we  put  up  a  sign  on  a 
broken  bridge ;  we  warn  people  from  a  dangerous 
ford.  And  yet  these  are  lesser  dangers !  Why  should 
not  men  wear  some  badge  significant  of  their  propen 
sities  ?  We  put  buttons  on  oxen's  horns  as  a  hint. 
We  put  a  board  on  a  cow's  face  intimating  her  dan 
gerous  propensity ;  we  put  a  shackle  or  a  poke  upon 
a  horse  that  is  addicted  to  extending  the  area  of 
his  freedom.  Why  not  put  signs  upon  dangerous 
people  ? 


40 (J  EYES   AND  EARS. 


BOOTS. 


HE  difference  between  7  and  8  is  not  very 
great ;  only  a  single  unit.  And  yet  that 
difference  has  power  over  a  man's  whole 
temper,  convenience,  and  dignity.  At  Buf 
falo,  my  boots  were  set  out  at  night  to  be  blacked. 
In  the  morning  no  boots  were  there,  though  all  the 
neighboring  rooms  had  been  served.  I  rang.  I 
rang  twice.  "  A  pretty  hotel,  —  nearly  eight  o'clock, 
going  out  at  nine,  breakfast  to  be  eaten,  and  no  boots 
yet."  The  waiter  came,  took  my  somewhat  emphatic 
order,  and  left.  Every  minute  was  an  hour.  It 
always  is  when  you  are  out  of  temper.  A  man  in  his 
stocking-feet,  in  the  third  story  of  a  hotel,  finds  him 
self  restricted  in  locomotion.  I  went  to  the  door, 
looked  up  and  down  the  hall,  saw  frowzy  chamber 
maids  ;  saw,  afar  off,  the  master  of  the  coal-scuttle  ; 
saw  gentlemen  walking  in  bright  boots,  unconscious 
of  the  privileges  which  they  enjoyed,  but  did  not  see 
any  one  coming  with  my  boots.  A  German  servant 
at  length  came,  round  and  ruddy-faced,  very  kind  and 
good-natured,  honest  and  stupid.  He  informed  me 
that  a  gentleman  had  already  taken  boots  No.  78  (my 
number).  He  would  hunt  him  up  ;  thought  he  was 
breakfasting.  Here  was  new  vexation.  Who  was 
the  man  that  had  taken  my  number  and  gone  for  my 
boots.  Somebody  had  them  on,  warm  and  nice,  and 
was  enjoying  his  coffee,  while  I  walked  up  and  down, 
with  less  and  less  patience,  who  had  none  too  much 
at  first.  No  servant  returned.  I  rang  again,  and 


BOOTS.  407 

sent  energetic  and  staccato  messages  to  the  office. 
Some  water  had  been  spilled  on  the  floor.  I  stepped 
in  it,  of  course.  In  winter  cold  water  feels  as  if  it 
burned  you.  Unpacked  my  valise  for  new  stockings. 
Time  was  speeding.  It  was  quarter  past  eight ;  train 
at  nine,  no  boots  and  no  breakfast.  I  slipped  on  a 
pair  of  sandal-rubbers,  too  large  by  inches  for  my 
naked  foot,  and  while  I  shuffled  along  the  hall,  they 
played  up  and  down  on  my  feet.  First,  one  shot  off; 
that  secured,  the  other  dropped  on  the  stairs  ;  people 
that  I  met  looked  as  if  they  thought  that  I  was  not 
well  over  a  last  night's  spree.  It  was  very  annoying. 
Reached  the  office,  and  expressed  my  mind.  First 
the  clerk  rang  the  bell  three  times  furiously,  then  ran 
forth  himself,  met  the  German  boots,  who  had  boots 
79  in  hand,  narrow  and  long,  thinking  perhaps  I 
could  wear  them.  Who  knows  but  79  had  my  boots  ? 
Some  curiosity  was  beginning  to  be  felt  among  by 
standers.  It  was  likely  that  I  should  have  half  the 
hotel  inquiring  after  my  boots.  I  abhor  a  scene. 
Retreated  to  my  room.  On  the  way  thought  that  I 
would  look  at  room  77's  boots.  Behold,  they  were 
mine  !  There  was  the  broken  pull-straps  ;  the  patch 
on  the  right  side,  and  the  very  shape  of  my  toe,  —  in 
fallible  signs !  The  fellow  had  marked  them  77  and 
not  78.  And  all  this  hour's  tumult  arose  from  just 
the  difference  between  7  and  8. 

I  lost  my  boots,  lost  the  train,  lost  my  temper,  and, 
of  course,  lost  my  good  manners.  Everybody  does 
that  loses  temper.  But,  boots  once  on,  breakfast 
served,  a  cup  of  coffee  brought  peace  and  good-will. 
The  whole  matter  took  a  ludicrous  aspect.  I  moral 
ized  iipon  that  infirmity  that  puts  a  man's  peace  at 


408  EYES   AND   EARS. 

the  mercy  of  a  Dutchman's  chalk.  Had  he  written 
seventy-eight,  I  had  been  a  good-natured  man,  look 
ing  at  Niagara  Falls  in  its  winter  dress.  He  wrote 
seventy-seven,  and  I  fumed,  saw  only  my  own  falls, 
and  spent  the  day  in  Buffalo  ! 

Are  not  most  of  the  pets  and  rubs  of  life  as  undig 
nified  as  this  ?  Few  men  could  afford  to-morrow  to 
review  the  things  that  vexed  them  yesterday.  We 
boast  of  being  free,  yet  every  man  permits  the  most 
arrant  trifles  to  rule  and  ride  him.  A  man  that  is 
vexed  and  angry  turns  the  worst  part  of  himself  out 
to  sight,  and  exhibits  himself  to  the  pity  or  contempt 
of  spectators.  Who  would  put  on  a  buffoon's  coat 
and  fool's  cap  and  walk  forth  to  be  jeered  ?  And  yet 
one's  temper  does  worse  by  him  than  that.  And  men 
submit  to  it,  not  once,  but  often,  and  sometimes  every 
day !  I  wonder  whether  these  sage  reflections  will 
make  me  patient  and  quiet  the  next  time  my  boots 
are  misplaced  ? 


COMPLIMENTS. 

OW  far  may  one  consistently  with  truth  and 
honor  employ  compliments  in  his  intercourse 
with  society  ?  This  question  requires  us 
to  fix  the  meaning  of  a  compliment.  Is  it 
anything  different  from  flattery  ?  Flattery  may  be 
given  by  means  of  a  compliment,  and  yet  there  are 
many  compliments  that  are  true,  well  deserved,  and 
sincere.  Both  compliment  and  flattery  belong  to  the 
element  of  praise.  Every  one  holds  that  it  is  right 


COMPLIMENTS.  409 

to  praise,  if  it  be  rightly  done.  But  when  one  is 
praised  for  things  not  meritorious,  or  which  the  person 
has  not  performed,  or  for  qualities  not  possessed,  or 
when  the  praise  is  out  of  proper  proportion  to  "desert 
or  fact,  it  is  flattery.  And  yet  this  does  not  hit  the 
precise  moral  element  that  determines  it.  Yiolation 
or  exaggeration  of  the  truth  of  facts  may  be  an  in 
discretion  only.  It  must  be  done  intentionally,  it 
must  be  done  insincerely,  and  for  a  purpose.  Flattery 
is  praise  insincerely  given  for  an  interested  purpose. 

A  compliment  is  usually  praise  delivered  in  some 
unexpected  and  beautiful  form.  A  compliment  is 
praise  in  an  art-form.  It  may  be  a  mere  intimation ; 
a  graceful  comparison,  an  illusion,  or  an  inference 
made  or  implied.  It  is  praise  crystallized.  It  bears 
about  the  relation  to  praise  that  proverbs  do  to  formal 
philosophy,  or  that  form  does  to  poetry. 

Compliments  may  then  be  Christianly  honest.  Sev 
eral  exquisite  instances  are  to  be  found  in  St.  Paul's 
letters  and  speeches.  That  men  employ  them  deceit 
fully,  flatteringly,  affords  no  just  reason  against  a 
sincere  and  honest  use  of  them.  On  the  contrary, 
there  is  all  the  more  need  of  showing  by  their  wise 
use  that  a  perversion  is  unnecessary. 

But  there  is  a  benevolence  in  compliments.  It 
tempts  one  to  look  for  agreeable  traits  among  his 
friends,  and  not  for  faults.  There  is  among  the  young 
of  our  time  an  impression  that  caustic  and  critical 
things  are  smart  and  genteel.  It  is  supposed  that 
dashing  wit,  unscrupulous  cuts,  and  sometimes  an 
abrupt  and  rude  demeanor,  are  signs  of  gentlemanly 
freedom.  This  is  a  sad  declension  from  the  polished 
and  kind  gentilities  of  former  schools  of  good  manners. 

18 


410  EYES  AND   EAKS. 

But  a  habit  of  saying  agreeable  things  in  an  elegant 
way,  if  it  does  not  degenerate  into  falseness,  will  work 
benefit  upon  the  speaker  ;  sweetening  his  mind,  turn 
ing  him  back  from  bitter  and  hateful  things,  and  in 
clining  him  to  the  way  of  kindness.  It  will  confer 
great  pleasure  on  the  object,  since  nothing  can  be 
more  agreeable  in  the  minor  scenes  of  life  than  sud 
denly  to  receive  praise  for  well-doing,  in  a  form  that 
pleases  at  once  both  the  moral  sense  and  the  taste. 
A  man,  however,  must  be  kind,  of  good  taste,  and 
thoroughly  honest,  to  use  compliments  without  danger 
—  to  himself. 


SMELL    AND    PERFUMERY. 


HE  sense  of  smell  is  perhaps  the  lowest  of 
the  senses.  Its  range  is  least  of  all  its  im 
portance  and  its  pleasures.  It  would  be  a 
curious  problem  to  determine  the  relative 
amount  of  pleasure  which  men  derive  from  the  ear 
or  eye.  Upon  the  ear  is  based  the  science  of  music  ; 
upon  the  eye  the  fine  arts  of  painting,  sculpture,  &c. 
By  the  eye  we  derive  all  pleasures  of  form,  color,  pro 
portion  ;  by  the  ear  come  the  delights  of  converse, 
the  benefit  of  discourse,  the  pleasure  of  music. 

There  is  no  such  range  to  the  sense  of  taste.  With 
this  sense  is  connected  the  whole  sustenance  of  human 
life.  It  is  by  food  that  the  body  is  every  day  rebuilt, 
and  tasting  has  much  to  do  with  food.  But,  as  com 
pared  with  these  major  senses,  smell  has  but  a  limited 
function.  And,  as  the  world  is  constituted,  it  is 


SMELL   AND   PERFUMERY.  411 

doubtful  whether  we  do  not  derive  as  much  pain  as 
pleasure  from  the  sense  of  smell. 

Civilization  or  barbarism  are  alike  full  of  bad  odors. 
Nature  for  the  most  part  is  sweet-smelling.  When  it 
is  considered  that  universal  death  is  followed  by  con 
tinuous  decay,  in  the  animal  and  vegetable  worlds, 
it  is  surprising  that  there  is  so  little  evil  odor  in 
the  air.  The  woods  are  fragrant,  the  fields  are  of  a 
wholesome  smell.  Whatever  decays  is  soon  resolved 
to  inodorous  elements,  and  the  exhaling  gas  is  swept 
off  into  the  great  purifier,  —  the  atmosphere  of  the 
globe. 

If  one  lives  in  the  country,  it  is  his  own  fault  if 
his  nose  is  not  at  peace  with  all  things.  Winter  is 
pure  and  inodorous.  Summer  is  full  of  balmy  leaves, 
sweet-smelling  fruits,  and  perfumed  flowers,  and  a 
man  may  surround  his  dwelling  with  beds  of  fragrant 
plants  that  shall  fill  his  house  with  pleasure  which 
ever  way  the  wind  blows. 

But  what  can  we  do  in  cities  ?  In  the  first  place, 
it  is  almost  impossible  to  keep  our  dwelling  sweet. 
Even  if  the  sewers  work,  the  kitchen  does  too.  Three 
times  a  day  we  have  our  food  sent  up  in  a  spiroteal 
form.  However  good  a  mixed  dinner  may  taste,  it 
seldom  smells  agreeably  in  the  parlor.  Coffee  smells 
gratefully  even  from  afar,  and  better  and  better  till 
smell  is  lost  in  taste.  But  ham  and  eggs,  waffles, 
griddle-cakes,  send  up  a  faint,  greasy  stench  through 
all  the  house,  —  pah  ! 

Then  comes  gas.  Can  human  imagination  conceive 
of  odor  more  utterly  abominable  ?  And  yet  how  few 
dwellings  have  not  a  leak  somewhere  ?  In  June  come 
worms.  The  whole  air  reeks  with  sickening,  vermic- 


412  EYES   AND   EAES. 

ular  stench.  No  sooner  does  this  begin  to  abate  be 
fore  the  ailanthus-tree  sheds  its  heavy,  noisome  odor 
that  fills  the  streets  and  penetrates  the  dwelling  past 
all  escape. 

But  what  shall  be  said  of  a  human  being  that, 
amid  all  these  grievances,  deliberately  adds  to  the 
army  of  stenches  that  of  voluntary  perfumes  ?  Under 
the  plea  of  pleasing  smells,  men  and  women  contrive 
to  fill  their  hair,  their  dress,  their  handkerchiefs,  with 
all  manner  of  odors  except  agreeable  ones.  The  hair 
is  rancid  with  bear's  grease,  with  ox-marrow,  with 
pomatum,  with  named  and  unnamed  oils,  and  they 
all  stink! 

Every  time  the  handkerchief  comes  forth,  a  gust 
of  musk  is  wafted  into  your  face,  warm,  fainting, 
sickening !  There  are  five  hundred  named  odors, 
more  or  less,  sold  in  bottles,  that  are  only  so  many 
different  ways  of  trying  to  hide  the  universal  smell 
of  musk.  Is  it  apple-blossom  ?  It  smells  musk.  Is 
it  mille-fleurs  ?  It  is  musk.  Is  it  geranium  ?  It  is 
musk  again.  Orange  smells  musk.  Violets,  helio 
tropes,  roses,  fade  away  to  their  base,  the  inevitable 
and  universal  musk.  The  gloves  smell  of  it,  the  silks, 
the  whole  person  seems  infested  with  civets. 

Your  worship  is  almost  destroyed  in  church.  One 
smell  is  before  you,  another  behind  you.  The  odors 
of  sanctity  are  manifold  abominations.  If  you  repair 
to  the  concert-room,  the  air  is  polluted  and  waiting  for 
you.  Good  manners  forbid  a  gentleman  to  hold  his 
nose  while  talking  with  a  lady  drenched  with  cologne 
or  lavender.  One  may  almost  recognize  his  friends  as 
dogs  do  game,  by  their  peculiar  odor.  Every  one 
affects  a  peculiar  smell.  We  might  almost  name  per- 


THE    GOOD    OF   DISORDER.  413 

sons  by  their  favorite  odor.  Miss  Yanilla  smiles  yon 
der  ;  next  her  the  charming  Miss  Orris-root.  There 
are  several  of  the  Lemon  Verbena  family  present,  and 
yet  more  of  the  Lemon  family.  Then  there  are  the 
Bergamots,  the  Orange-blossoms,  the  Bitter  Almonds, 
and  other  old  and  respectable  families. 

Once  in  a  while  comes  a  lady  of  transcendent  good 
taste,  wholly  inodorous.  She  does  not  carry  a  sandal- 
wood  fan.  She  wears  nothing  kept  in  a  camphor- 
wood  trunk.  Her  silks  have  neither  been  hung  in  a 
cedar  closet,  nor  been  smoked  with  French  pastilles. 
Her  gloves  smell  of  kid  leather  —  as  they  ought  to. 
No  myrrh,  no  incense,  no  nuts,  blossoms,  fruits,  seeds, 
or  leaves,  have  been  crushed  to  yield  for  her  any  odor 
of  offence.  She  is  pure  as  water,  and  as  inodorous  ; 
as  bright  as  a  pearl,  and  as  scentless ;  witching  as  an 
opal,  and  as  devoid  of  perfume.  0,  that  she  might 
live  a  thousand  years,  and  be  the  ancestress  of  ten 
thousand  just  like  her  ! 


THE    GOOD    OF    DISORDER. 

|MONGr  the  superstitions  of  education  are 
those  in  favor  of  order.  It  is  not  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  order,  but  that  its 
advocates  are  bigoted,  are  narrow  and  ex 
clusive.  It  is  coolly  taken  for  granted,  that  if  order 
is  good,  disorder  is  bad.  As  if  there  might  not  be 
bad  order  and  good  disorder ! 

If  order  is  Heaven's  first  law,  disorder  is  at  least 


414  EYES   AND   EAES. 

its  second.  What  is  order,  as  applied,  I  mean,  to 
things  ?  It  is  simply  arrangement  according  to  some 
notion,  and  disorder  is  simply  arrangement  accord 
ing  to  some  other  notion.  They  might  be  called  pri 
mary  order  and  secondary  order. 

As  practice  almost  always  precedes  philosophy,  so 
already  there  is  to  be  found  the  fact  of  disorder  for 
the  sake  of  benefits  which  cannot  be  had  by  despotic 
order.  If  a  parlor  is  arranged  with  chairs  in  rows 
all  around  the  walls,  with  everything  in  right  lines, 
every  one  says,  how  stiff,  how  intolerable,  how  little 
taste  is  manifested !  But  swing  round  the  lounge  in 
the  corner,  carelessly;  let  the  chairs  be  scattered 
about,  just  as  they  would  be  if  persons  had  but  now 
used  them ;  shove  the  centre  table  a  little  out  of  the 
very  middle  of  the  medallion,  so  that  it  shall  not  be 
set,  and  then  people  say  the  parlor  has  a  social  and 
easy  air.  What  is  this  but  a  disguised  revolt  against 
the  despotism  of  order  ?  The  same  is  more  remark 
ably  true  in  gardens  and  pleasure-grounds.  For 
merly,  grounds  were  arranged  by  geometric  principles. 
Everything  was  squared  and  mated.  Mathematical 
exactness  ruled.  Even  the  figures  of  geometry  were 
copied.  The  French  gardens  might  be  said  to  be 
geometry  in  blossom.  Against  this  has  come  up  what 
is  called  the  Natural  Style.  And  what  is  the  natural 
or  picturesque  style  of  landscape  gardening  ?  It  aims 
to  reproduce  the  beauty  of  nature,  together  with  its 
negligence  and  graceful  disorder.  It  is  a  system  based 
upon  the  rejection  of  any  absolute  rule.  It  aims  to 
arrange  things  just  as  they  would  be  if  they  never 
had  been  arranged  at  all. 

These  instances  are  enough  to  show  that  the  preju- 


THE   GOOD    OF   DISOKDER.  415 

dices  which  lofty  and  virtuous  housekeepers  have 
against  disorder  are  not  founded  in  philosophy,  and 
that  order  is  often  a  mere  nuisance.  We  don't  be 
lieve  it  to  be  Heaven's  first  law  ;  though  we  did  not, 
for  rhetorical  effect,  choose  to  say  so  earlier  in  this 
article.  In  so  far  as  it  can  be  made  a  foil,  a  back 
ground,  a  judicious  contrast  to  disorder,  we  have  no 
doubt  it  has  a  place  and  a  function.  But  it  is  only  a 
path  to  be  trod  on  the  way  to  graceful  disorder. 

The  face  of  Nature  is  the  most  obvious  and  thor 
ough  refutation  of  the  popular  superstitions  about 
order.  Nothing  is  orderly  till  man  takes  hold  of  it. 
Everything  in  creation  lies  around  loose,  or  is  mixed 
up  in  the  most  inextricable  disorder.  Not  in  confu 
sion.  Disorder  is  never  to  be  confounded  with  con 
fusion.  If  our  housekeepers  had  had  the  making  of 
Nature,  the  world  would  have  been  a  vast  bureau, 
and  every  drawer  would  have  had  its  appropriate 
specimens  in  lamentable  regularity.  Here  we  should, 
have  had  Mineralogy,  next  Botany,  next  Zoology,  and 
so  on,  in  intolerable  order.  As  it  is,  thank  Nature ! 
things  are  scattered  about  all  over  the  world  splen 
didly,  and  no  housekeeper  was  ever  created  to  put 
this  world  "to  rights." 

We  spoke  of  bureaus.  There  is  our  own  for  in 
stance.  It  is  a  moderately  good  one,  with  a  mova 
ble  top,  and  a  looking-glass  attached.  Our  way  of 
arranging  is,  to  put  everything  down  on  the  top,  just 
as  it  comes.  Hers  is  just  the  other  way. 

We  treat  it  as  we  should  the  globe,  and  leave  things 
just  as  they  dropped.  Books,  combs,  and  brushes,  a 
fishing-reel,  a  pamphlet,  matches,  and  lozenges,  co 
logne,  and  troches,  a  battle-hymn  and  letters,  watch- 


416  EYES  AND  EARS. 

cases,  and  ribbons.  Then  one  would  know  where  to 
look  if  anything  were  missing.  Alas!  order  steps 
up  the  moment  we  leave,  and  this  beauteous  disorder 
vanishes !  It  is  distressing  to  every  tender  feeling  of 
taste  to  open  the  first  drawer.  All  is  adjusted ;  noth 
ing  left  to  the  imagination.  Every  lace  smooth,  every 
one  folded,  flat,  regular.  So  it  will  be  to-morrow,  so 
next  week,  and  to  the  end  !  The  next  drawer  is  mine. 
There  repose  the  snow-white  shirts,  the  pile  of  hand 
kerchiefs  ;  and  they  repose  like  Egyptian  dead  in  rows 
and  shelf-like  order.  Once  in  a  while  we  thrust  in  a 
genuine  touch  of  Nature,  that  is  said  to  make  all  men 
kin  ;  but  a  flatiron  does  not  take  a  wrinkle  out  of  linen 
quicker  than  the  order  does  out  of  the  drawer !  And 
so  it  is  with  the  next,  and  the  next.  So  is  it  with  the 
closet,  with  parlor,  and  entries.  The  same  rectangu 
lar  fate  presides  in  parlor  and  dining-room.  Nay,  it 
stealthily  creeps  into  the  very  study.  Let  us,  in  a 
moment  rash  with  desperation,  say  our  soul's  faith 
(though  it  be  heresy)  that  no  housekeeper  —  foreor 
dained  housekeepeer  —  has  any  rights  in  a  study. 
Here  are  we  this  morning,  just  returned  after  four 
days'  absence.  We  left  this  room  a  Paradise,  we  find 
it  a  Purgatory.  Our  table  was  blossoming  all  over 
with  a  luxuriant  and  tangled  abundance  of  letters, 
papers,  scraps  from  newspapers,  books,  and  books  on 
books.  It  was  a  journal.  Each  day's  deposit  for 
weeks  was  there,  almost  with  the  regularity  of  geolog 
ical  strata.  We  could  go  back  as  in  a  register,  and 
recall  the  topics  of  each  several  day,  until  memory 
failed,  and  the  lower  strata  of  papers,  the  very  primi 
tive  formations,  went  back  to  dim  and  remote  times 
inexplorable.  Like  an  onion  or  tulip-bulb,  the  table 


THE    GOOD    OF   DISORDER.  417 

was  constructed  in  layers.  Fatal  absence  !  Misplaced 
confidence!  We  returned  to  find  everything  death- 
struck.  All  was  order  !  Our  articles  sorted,  our  let 
ters  filed,  our  scraps  classified,  our  pens  collected  and 
huddled  like  raw  recruits  in  awkward  squads,  the 
scissors,  the  knife,  the  pins,  the  ink,  the  mucilage, 
standing  round  like  officers  dressed  for  a  parade-day. 
A  month  will  not  suffice  to  bring  back  again  the  ad 
mired  disorder,  the  graceful  melange. 

And  then  the  books! 

Mr.  Bonner,  —  you  have  a  kind  nature,  a  genuine, 
sympathizing  heart.  Every  one  has  seen  how  heartily 
you  stand  up  for  your  friends,  how  heartily  you 
thwack  your  adversaries.  But  even  you  cannot  con 
sole  us  nor  avenge  us  of  our  adversary !  She  steals 
in !  She  views  the  happy  scene !  There  was  Bayle 
lying  on  the  floor,  with  Mape's  Farmer  in  his  lap,  and 
an  Atlas  genially  covering  both.  There  was  a  squad 
ron  of  Living  Ages  lying  around,  like  a  picket  of 
cavalry  at  ease.  In  one  corner  was  a  thicket  of 
newspapers,  on  the  sofa  a  ream  of  paper,  a  shawl, 
an  Affghan,  a  Concordance,  a  Bible,  new  books  uncut, 
magazines,  and  various  other  treasures  ;  near  the  win 
dow  all  the  books  that  at  various  times  for  a  month 
we  had  bought  up,  but  had  not  put  up,  waiting  till 
we  had  time  to  arrange;  near  the  door  a  stack  of 
portfolios,  and  here  and  there  a  picture,  patiently 
waiting  tq  be  hung.  The  book-cases  were  in  benevo 
lent  sympathy  with  the  floor.  Indeed,  the  book-case 
might  be  called  a  vertical  floor,  and  the  floor  a 
horizontal  book-case.  Whichever  way  the  eye  turned 
it  found  unexpected  contrasts.  Nothing  was  tame. 
Everything  was  fitted  to  excite  surprise  in  a  well- 
is*  AA 


418  EYES   AND   EARS. 

regulated  housekeeper's  mind.  It  was  a  stimulating 
sight.  No  art  could  have  designedly  arranged  it. 
It  was  the  workmanship  of  distributive  and  gradual 
chance.  Like  frostwork  on  the  window,  it  defied 
invention  and  challenged  imitation. 

The  same  remorseless  hand  that  would  rub  out  a 
windowful  of  frost  etchings,  for  the  sake  of  seeing 
vulgar  things  outside,  has  invaded  our  room  and 
"put  everything  to  rights."  Twp  months  of  indus 
trious  carelessness  will  scarce  suffice  to  bring  back  my 
paradise  !  And  all  the  time  that  fatal  fear  will  over 
hang  us  that,  in  an  unguarded  hour,  the  same  calamity 
will  sweep  through  the  room  again,  and  where  it 
found  all,  everything  in  disorder  and  loneliness,  leave 
everything  blasted  with  regularity  and  order ! 

But  ah,  the  days  are  coming !  But  seven  days  is 
it  to  Spring !  Then  in  one  more  month,  —  and  all 
our  ills  will  be  healed.  We  shall  send  everybody  to 
the  country.  We  shall  be  sole  monarch.  Then, 
descending,  we  shall  overturn  the  despotism  of  the 
parlors,  and  bring  to  the  solitude  of  the  house  the 
joyful  boon  of  disorder !  We  will  forget  to  put 
anything  in  its  place.  The  sofa  shall  sprout  with 
strange  things.  Every  corner  be  planted  with  new 
commodities.  The  book-case  door  shall  never  be  shut. 
The  chairs  shall  never  have  less  than  half  a  dozen 
books.  Engravings  shall  lie  in  heaps.  Right  in  the 
midst  of  manuscripts  shall  be  seen  bread  and  cheese 
and  apples  that  had  begun  to  be  eaten ;  the  ashes 
shall  heap  itself  in  gray  disorder ;  kindling-wood  and 
waste  paper  shall  ruffle  the  hearth ;  and  everything  see 
everything  doing  what  it  was  never  expected  to  do. 
Brooms  we  hate  as  we  do  a  tyrant's  rod.  We  will 


THE   GOOD   OF   DISORDEK. 


419 


expel  them !  Dust-brushes  are  an  utter  abomination. 
We  will  drive  them  forth!  At  present  we  think  it 
meet  to  submit.  But  we  snuff  the  balmy  air  that 
tells  us  that  the  vernal  days  are  coming.  To  us  they 
mean  more  than  to  anybody  else.  To  all  they  mean 
grass,  leaves,  lambs,  birds,  flowers,  and  odorous  smell 
of  soil  and  vegetation.  But  to  us  they  mean  also 
domestic  liberty,  the  end  of  tyrannous  order,  the  res 
toration  of  nature  to  the  house,  the  undisturbed  reign 
of  joyous  disorder ! 


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4          A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 
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6         A  LiSl  of  Books  Publifhed 
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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  7 

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8         A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 
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[POETRY.] 

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10       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  11 


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12       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


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